The empty room is silent,
Silent, cold and dark,
The washed out yellow beam
As the torch-light makes its mark.
the wind is howling through;
rattling the beams,
In the light of darkness:
Things aren't what they seem.
Only torch-light sees,
The ancient, fading text.
Only torch-light knows,
What will happen next.
Sept 2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem