l awoke with a start from bed.
Getting up from bed is a sore
Had to at a point, but in no haste.
Why do l have to at all?
This pain suddenly surges through my back,
l cant stand it so l lie down again,
have to get up at a point, and l do,
the pain doesnt go away, but the sleep does.
What now, l ask myself?
Find something to do, But there are a dozen
and one things to do.Just do them!
Eventually, l get a pen and paper to write
this poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yeah... a thousand things to do and without the heart to begin... even stumbling out of bed is a chore in itself somedays...