The shopkeepers retreat with a quiet resolve.
The day’s money is collected,
The coins are as countless as stars.
The snake sleeps under his weed
Next to the ripe tomatoes
Grandmother shall pick at sunrise.
The days lyrics have come
The song of our lives has been sung
Our chorus is coming, we are incited to join in.
Our rest, our retreat, by our
Nightlight moon, our poetry-
Is written by silence’s virtue
We nestle into bed, for strength-
Poetry is my bed, my strength,
I nestle into it, and dream…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem