Will an unknown hand raise the continents
and the song transfix the bird,
the tide abandon the shores
or wash them with a light that will endure?
And I who form the shadow
that my soul casts over things,
will I exist in this poem
or be read by no one?
It is almost midnight,
the trees stand silent.
Bo Carpelan (1926 - 2011) Finland
Translated by David McDuff
Source: Nordic Voices in Print
thank you for this
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