An old oil lamp discarded in a locked cupboard room
lies covered in cobwebs next to a worn out broom.
Spiders and mice have long since gone.
The consequence of being left in the dark for so long.
A 'relic' from a bygone Victorian past
now time layered dust hides its once polished brass.
Add oil and a light from a match's spark
and a flame would rise and lighten its accustom dark.
Should power fail and leave you in the dark and cold,
there's always the oil lamp that's nearly two hundred years old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem