The crackle and pop must never stop;
let the wood fire keep on burning.
With the ticks and the snaps I'll take my naps
as the memories keep on churning.
The chirps and the twitters help ease my jitters
as I hear the bluebird's song
come out of the wood where a tree once stood,
and it's here that I belong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem