It was our first night in the old West Virginia cabin.
It had been built around 1770 and was made entirely
from hand-hewn logs and you could still see the
deep and shallow chisel marks, the cuts and level lines from the
planers and the hammers and the saws that had been used
to clear the land and build the modest small cabin by the creek.
But that night, our first night, we had been woken by
a soft creaking noise, but as I have 10 cats and 7 dogs,
well, noise abounds and crashes are ignored and even
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem