Eventide.
The tide of sleep rolls in.
Fills the coves of my mind.
Sweeps in the flotsam of dreams,
that swirl and eddy throughout the night.
I bob like a small vessel
upon the depths of dark hours,
feel the lift and fall and in the morning
the tide recedes. To wash me slowly
toward a new beach of wakefulness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem