A cold damp wind hits you in the face
And the darkness closes in on you
Biting into you as you wait and stand
There is no more need to be concerned
For the longer you wait, the worm will turn
As the dog searches through the factory
Endless minutes plod on without hearing
Until the all clear is given to resume patrol.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem