I ponder o’er my keyboard now,
Will my hands make words on keys?
Will words into a poem go?
And will those words thee please?
My hands work slowly and hesitate,
To make sense of what I write,
Those words mostly come at night,
And then only when it’s late.
The time in England is past midnight,
It’s often then I write,
And I must delve into my Mind so deep,
To clear the thoughts and words there a-lurking,
Quietly into verse, rhymes and scans a-forming,
Before I lay me down to sleep.
Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 23 September 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem