The spell was broken. All that evil lay in shards
on the floor, like unseasonable scarves
shed along the backs of furniture.
Once-fiery little stones cooled and quenched underwater
each incantation unsung, each
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That poem spoke to me of the relief that comes after a 'battle'. The exhaling whilst looking at the rubbled trail left behind. It spoke a lot in a little. The name 'Michael' a nice pun. Thankyou. Regards...Sharon.