I think in midnight dreary,
This Life is just too weary,
And faded out of sight,
A mountain has its morning light,
Shinning with Hope that will delight,
Life sometimes has that too,
But when the fighting years are done,
What will be left of you?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good question. I'll have to think about it. : -) Peace.