Sleep was interrupted by the telephone.
The receiver is now cradled down to rest…
Slumber is impossible for a yawning stone.
Soon waves of sleeplessness begin to crest.
Capturing the necessity for the need to sleep.
Thoughts ricochet off the walls of my brain.
Now, I’m concentrating on counting of sheep.
An avalanche occurs as the phone rings again.
(7/15/07)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem