In the morning mist
wait the coastal hills,
waves fixed, sea frozen
to solid rock,
smooth
as rippled silk.
The mountains wait too,
but closer to the sun
they know more,
and do not despair
for they know that soon
heaven will call on them
to proclaim His peace
and plenty!
Then will the poor
have their fill
of justice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem