I write in the dark
After I've turned out the light
When the fan blades are wild
And the crickets come to life
I have to decide
Which poems I must let slide
If I stay up to write
I might never rest at night
For they flock to me like flies
Oblivious to my sleepless plight
Never when the time is right
But always so I can't sleep tight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yup, I can relate. that's usually when inspiration floods the page. Been that way since forever. a Nightowl here too. Great penning. Loved it.
Ironically this came to me in the middle of the night too. Thank you!