Quiet is the village now;
Yielding to the night at will;
Moonlight shadows fall on roofs and walls;
The streets are empty and still.
The shadows dance and dart about;
The cold wind billows low;
Stores are locked and bolted down;
No one hurries to aand fro.
A wintery frost silently gathers;
On the buildings, the streets, and the ground;
The people are resting all snuggled in bed;
Not knowing or hearing a sound.
The night grows colder, the moon grows pale;
The light is dim as it creeps;
Along the frost covered roofs and walls;
While the village sleeps.
By
Richard Netherland Cook
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem