MY PILLOW!
My pillow! What if you tumble! Would my nightmare be humble? My window! My street is nimble but no swept tree would jump in to sketch a jungle. My meadow! You never bustle. Would you blow my green bubble? My innocent snow! You are a winter's hustle. You make my fable double. My pillow! You hear my grumble. Could my heart cuddle the stones which I can't crumble? My pillow! What is my trouble? My pillow! I wish you were purple. Life hustles and bustles. Death may rest beneath some marble. My window spins with this giant castle. This castle's stretched ears never hear my grumble.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem