the morning here
is always the sound of chirping birds
because the trees
have been their homes at night
when the sun rises
the birds fly away again
and when the sun fades
they come back
to their nests
and home
the night hums the song of silence
bird's eyes closing again
to the golden sheen
of the bright moon
the white owl flaps its wings
on a nocturnal adventure
in harmony with the bats
friends of the night
some shadows lurk in the night
in the pursuit of happiness
some souls are restless
on dreams unfulfilled
some wake up dwindling at dawn
opening the fridge for a glass of cold water
switches on the computer
and begin again
anew to another poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem