Tranquil hours.
The waters of time solidify.
They become a momentary shore.
Evening's murmur:
A frail statue of air.
A monument to life.
The evening comes like a drizzle.
Yet how can the drops put out
So many sunsets inside us?
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From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem