In by the darkened shore glides a lonely white sail,
like a tired, probing bird seeking a refuge for the night,
and above in the deepening sky a bright twilight cloud,
drifting apathetically like one who is just about to fall
asleep...
Now we turn back, we sleepy children, to our home near
here,
and smooth our thoughts from our brow, and smooth our deeds
from our hands.
We leave them to fade like forgotten games, we drop them for
that which is real
and lean with the blind trust of children against an unknown mother's
knee.
For more information, please visit the website of David McDuff and his own pages with the translations.