The wee small hours of the dawn
take their toll on me
It's when my thoughts start to form
and turn into potpourri.
They accumulate before sunrise
and I jot them on a pad.
And I think back on the wee small hours,
some happy and some sad.
But poets know that every thought
has a purpose for the soul.
And the wee small hours of the dawn
are the ones where I feel whole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem