I
On a wide plateau an immense field
spreads out its welcome. Cottonwoods
rim te park on two sides, eagles
perch in their highest branches.
Groves of birches flourish,
their silver leaves flashing!
The poets call this The Poets’ Field,
but they are only happy when
families picnic together, travelers
stop to refresh, young people
discover love and everyone joins a green circle.
II
The Sun spills its liquid self
across the western sky.
The green field, empty and still,
sleeps… and dreams of the poems.
It watches for a second time the poems
lifting their voices heavenwards,
and heaven’s blessing descending…
And then the golden light of the sun
mingles with the transparent light
of heaven in a perfect crystal radiance
visible to all with eyes to see.
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