D'ar bladenn arc'hant

TO THE SILVER DISK

 

All Poets on Earth throughout the centuries.

Have sung your praises. O Moon

Impatient lamp in the starry vault

The night's beauty in the light of your solitude,

You, who puts movement in the sea,

life in seed and art in tree-boughs.

Every storyteller creates lovely scenes

Because of you.

Every dreamer builds castles

On your perimeter.

Every child calls you: "The silver disk."

You must not be angry

With those who trampled

The purity of your Mystery,

For the Bard will still sing you In every key,

 

For eternity...

 

July 1969.