I walk so fast
until it becomes
dark and
spooky.
I walk until
I become so scared
that I start running like a
ghost at midnight
in mid air.
I run until
I get home
and in to my bed.
I run like the wind
passes me at 50 miles-an-hour
until I return from my scary
nightmare.
I slowly wake from my
nightmare to awake in a
haystack in back yard
of my garden.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem