On the edge of a cliff,
on the edge of a night,
a dark little cabin
is edged by my light.
So close to the edge
of destruction it stood
that I feared that my light
might do it no good
but tumble it headlong
with splintering wood
down rocks to the river
and end it for good.
And I wondered a man
should pick such a site
to lay his head down
for even a night.
But the storm at my back
convinced me to stay,
to die in the night
if death came my way.
It sounds heroic but at same time sensitive and make you feel a sadness behind it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And with the storm at your back it may even look cozy. Loved the second stanza. Great images and description, and good use of rhyme