Lying awake in coldest of the night,
Counting the moments left of the moon’s light.
Surrendering to the breeze that passes through the shades.
You stare into the sky wondering why,
Why must I die once this light fades?
This last night spent in awe of the moon,
For this night has come to an end too soon.
As the sun comes to a rise,
A fragile demon dies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem