Someone strums a guitar, at two in the morn,
Such a melancholy sound.
In the darkest hours before the dawn,
Where only silence does abound.
The body of a woman, weeping in the night,
While somebody strums her strings.
A tortured soul, before first light,
While the guitar gently sings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem