the rickety,
ticking,
old oak clock,
tick-tocked,
lonesomely through
the cold old house.
silently
sneaking,
around
the dusty
damp floor,
a mouse,
furry and brown,
beady eyed and bony.
a clock and a mouse,
together in a desolate house,
one counting down the days,
the other,
eating up
the crumbs,
of left over memories
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem