Tis a morning day,
Breath white mist,
Frost the colour of gray.
Tis midday,
The sun black,
Rays gleaming gray.
Tis nighttime,
Stars a shining,
Moon like a dime.
Repeat. Repeat.
Routine turning,
Not a soul to greet.
Repeat. Repeat.
Ever to repeat.
A Marionette never to meet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem