I sit here writing all alone
No love, I find, to call my own,
Just me, my words, a cup of tea
To ponder now, eternity.
Outside there are the snowy skies
But inside here the kettle cries:
A blanket, warm, rapped ‘round my feet
And slumber soon for me to meet.
2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem