That bitter night in Valley Forge stands above my other memories.
‘Twas winter, and the snowy winds whistled through the trees.
Gathered ‘round a dying fire, soldiers shivered from the night chill.
Few were sleeping; others keeping solemn vigil stood still.
At the edge of the encampment, a movement caught my eye.
A dark form disappeared behind a bush; could it be a spy?
Quietly I rose and, following the footprints, slipped into the night.
A trail of bloody snow was all that I could discern in the moonlight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem