Hedgehogs that the night
Prefer
By the advent of mid-dusk
Prepare.
Well hidden in
Hastings Gardens they
A gruesome orchestra
They play
Slow painful and desperate
Low without tears
Without a subject, random,
Plain the Hedgehogs play
The look of each face
Is sad and resigned.
Yet still continue they
To play and string
The gruesome notes of
The gruesome orchestra.
Moon stops to look
The night stars stare
And still the Hedgehogs play
Their gruesome orchestra.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem