Sunday silence, gold-summoned
Onto morning shelves.
We choose the book, open, read.
Archaic pages, dust deified,
Sanctified by water.
Whence this liquid, languid
Penalty of truths...dawn haloed,
Labeled 'rise, rise'...do we then
Righteously smite the twilight
Beggar back...knowing he must
Limp from yesterday...having
Broken through the Storm...
Saturday Morning.
Tides trio Tess with tear-torn heart,
Thunder flung.
Dawn limos timid tints, oath-white clouds
Fronting gray truths.
Mariah smiles Time...ragged garments
Gold-summoned.
The beggar wraps in Sunday
Silence.
Yesterday sleeps.
Allways a pleasure to read such fine golden spun work from you...Thank You..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderfully crafted. You have a remarkable gift for combining disparate images whose associations are revealed by your vision.