Odoriferous bushes
Touched first by night-dews
Then fomented by the dawn.
With flushed face you fronted
The first sun rays
The sorrows of each new day
The tragedies round the earth
Reserved for that day’s fill:
Then
In the night the many wounds
The many tragedies
Of Earth are nursed –
Wounds closed and
Stitched hastily –
Only to be re-opened
Each fresh day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem