High up on my ceiling
before I fall asleep
I see a darkened shadow.
I need to count some sheep.
I cannot make the shadow out.
Its shape I can't discern.
I shut my eyes tightly
as restlessly I turn.
I swear that I will keep them shut
but my lids defy the vow.
The shadowy figure appears again
and my vision's blurry now.
One more peek is all it takes
for me to realize
that the shadow's only in my mind,
not my foolish eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem