Best poems are lost in the warmth of blanket.
Lured away by sleep
they could be precious keep
if I could hold them through night.
Best poems surrender to warm bed’s comfort.
Lulled into stupor quietly abort
before I could take them on a sleepless ride,
they seek a dark corner find it and hide.
Best poems brew though in the stillness of night.
I cannot birth them show them daylight
but let them die in abject disgrace
on warm bed beneath blanket
sunk without a trace!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wow! this is a great poem, very relevant, (ha ha) i relate with it...