The house is creaking in the night,
of that I am sure.
Underneath the floorboards are squeaking with no light,
A hypnotic kind of lure.
A song is sung that makes me cry,
too sad are the words of those who die.
I curl up in my covers close,
and sing them back a lullaby.
When they look at me with wonder,
I will look at them back and ponder.
The words that form on their silent lips,
I will answer for them in the night so crisp.
Tears drip down my face as I realize they cannot reply,
so I sing to them once more,
to love them as my neighbor,
for they are truly my midnight neighbors as I sing through the night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem