Earth is the repository
Of everything that’s gone;
A moment spent above it,
But eternal night is long.
Who knows what treasures lie
And sparkle, in the dirt;
Perhaps a lady’s earring-
Rare pearls, within the chert?
Is that a miner’s lamp,
That rusted bit of metal,
And was that the doctor’s bag,
And that, his sterile kettle?
The play things of a child
Are scattered just the same;
He meant to pick them up-
But too soon, the long night came.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem