Clean white sheets upon my bed
cradle my body but not my head.
My head's never cradled. It's too full.
It's too noisy. There is no lull.
I wash them routinely every week.
If I hung them outside the neighbors would speak.
Their words would complement the sight
of clean white sheets I use at night.
But they don't know how I'm awake
and how those sheets never give me a break.
I make the bed up and I think
'If only I could catch a wink.'
I'd praise those sheets on every day
and finally I'd be able to say.
'Clean white sheets upon my bed
you've found a way to cradle my head.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem