The sun has sunk beneath the skies,
But leaves a soft warm glow behind;
And, climbing slowly down, he dies,
Like me to heavy rest inclined:
My eyes are drowsy and call for sleep;
For they were not long dark this morn:
I'll now let Rest upon me creep,
And slumber as the night is born.
Your really good a poems, Whould you mind reading mine(if you dont mind) and tell me what u think its called 'Armed with imagination(the rain hunt) 'thanks -midnightmaiden
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like this one lots. Short but beautiful and subtle. Lovely woven words. Love Ernestine XXX