The Dreamer lies asleep,
In his bed of dreams.
His mind always closed,
To the awakened, it seems.
A fly buzzes past,
The dreamer now stirs.
He rests again until,
It is is lifted, the curse.
So spare a thought for the dreamer,
And with it a life.
Wasting away to nothing,
Putting itself in strife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem