Slowly now
The train is creeping.
Boards beneath
The rails are sleeping.
But time means nought
At all to they,
For sleeping's what
They do all day.
And they just lay there
Dozing deeper,
For each of them
Is called a....'Sleeper'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A lovely poem that leaves you wanting more! 10+