I am lying here prone
thinking in my bed all alone.
I strain for sleep but it allows me not into its fold
so I lie awake here, wondering, in the cold
Do I tremble at this day that will arrive,
do I fear I shall not feel alive?
Am I afraid that this time, this day, my strength will flag,
or is this still just jet lag?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem