In the quiet of the night
She lies on the bed
And listens
To the incessant
Thump, thump, thump
Of her heart
To the incessant
Tick, tick, tick
Of the table clock
To the hiss of the wind
As it winds through the trees
To the hoot, hoot, hoot
Of the hunting night owl
While at the back of her mind
Flow the troubles of the present
That does not allow her to sleep
She no longer thinks
Of the past or the future
They no longer matter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem