The child played on the shore all day,
Preferring fortress peace to boat,
The noon-bright gulls knifed waves of air,
Blurs in the brief expanse of moat.
One tower rose, a stubby knot,
The grand gate, scratches on a wall,
And no bridge spanned the moat at all,
For sea had cleaned the beach of clay.
In half-light limped a fragment moon,
As youthful eyes watched waves draw near,
His stark foot left a seaward ruin,
That sweeping crests rushed without thought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem