Wordsmiths we are,
Who dig and cut
The rough gems of sentiment and notion
And cut again,
Then polish,
The prize which we unearth
And fashion it
Lovingly
In solitary silence
Into landscapes which will lie
Easy, on desiring eyes
And into melodies
Which, in a while,
Will sing like restful streams
Unto the troubled ear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The flow of words in the poem is lovely whose sound lingers in the readers' ears. Metaphorically, the poem deals with steps needed for its creation. Thanks.