The fog shrouds
every morning
I wake up to
The wind glides
against my skin
The cold seems
to dig deep within
All I can hear
is your voice
It deafens
my attention
Days are forgotten
Days run together
I stand here
left with bad weather
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dear Cokbod, It's good to see your work back on the site. This is a fine poem. The flow takes you along to the perfect last line. Excellent work! All the best, Hugh