Mother, would you close the drapes,
a storm is rolling in.
Sinister and awesome shapes
with the Devil's grin.
Mother, it is now too late,
this may be the end.
Let us both await our fate,
take what God will send.
Can we hope for a return
of the morning rays?
Just before we die to burn
leaving only haze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice one Herbert, short by superb. Love Ernestine XXX