Time waits in the shadows
at the edge of sleep
shrouds the enchanted lake
ancient wisdoms
brew a secret alchemy
a lone silhouette skims the surface
Creation rests on the seventh day
a tribe of herdsmen
in a desert valley
worship at the feet of Moloch
Druid priests
still wander on the moors
silent vigil etched in stone
Somewhere on a foreign field
soldiers in trenches
hands cupped to hold the flame
wait for the signal
their final communion
ghosts on a memory of gray light
(1990)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem