Out of the sapphire shadows he creeps,
and into the dead of night he seeps.
In his prison grays, hiding from the light
of day, they call him, 'Bandit.'
He never walks, he stalks.
As the sun sinks, he prepares to slink,
through your open window.
Better beware. He'll find you
and your brightest treasures, too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem