Friday, October 03, 2014

By the Sea

Our thoughts, pent up for a week,
spill out onto a brisk bore tide.

We drink our fill at a waterfall,
of tears from clouds, moss, and stone.

We watch the young swans diving,
mottled grey, like the highlands.

In a country of my dreams
I dip my wings in the sea.

When my daughter laughs,
she's there with me. 

















2 comments:

bluestorm said...

Wonderful !! Thank you, Flame.

Iulia Flame said...

xxx

all is translation (and every bit of us is lost in it)

Rilke (Leonid Pasternak, 1900) Image credit to Wikimedia Commons GONG Sound, no longer measurable with the sense of hearing. As ...

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