Heat, Heat is the key to life.
Without heat, we freeze, and cold.
It does not matter if the door is open,
still cold, and tired.
It is late. That may attest to my
weary state. Or is it more....
Could it be I am tired of waiting,
Being in the cold about the future,
Or am I tired of living without
the heats of passion,
Perhaps I am tired of life,
and the cold is creeping up in me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem