Suffering a sense of deja vu
One dank and chilly evening,
She hurried through the dust of town,
A detour of criminal renown.
In the distance, a double scare:
One - a dwarf was lurking there
Two - she saw him draw his gun.
She did not dare to ask him why.
Had to run, or she would die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem