Right next door there is a house, smaller than my own.
There’s no one there now, it’s cold
With shades of pallid ghosts.
Ragged torn window nets hang damply down
Like crunched over muddy snow.
This used be someone’s home.
I’ve seen them come and go;
They’d move in during sunlight
All warm, smiley faced though worn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem