Sthephan G. Stephansson Poetry

SKIPAKOMAN

I sit on the farthest sand,
dusk is falling, the vision slips.
Either they have come to land
unseaworthy, or they strand,
my morning's ships.
Yet out there lives my youthful will,
between the blizzards roving still.

Written in 1915

Translated by Bernard Scudder.



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