(40) The Hospice Room
Oh the boredom of a hospice room
The cleaning man with mop and broom
He sprays and mops the settled dust
Both pail and post are stained with rust.
My sleeping bride so peaceful sleeps
At Hypnos’ side five fathoms deep
The God of sleep won’t let her rise
Despite my surface bubbled cries
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The Go of sleep won't let her rise. good write. thanks.