Even with his eyes closed
He could hear the overhead fan
Cutting through the air
Pushing a warm night breeze
Down toward the old bed
Whatever coolness the room held
Had long since gone
Along with all the dreams
That refused to enter
It was just one of those nights
Where sleep never comes
So he just quietly remained still
And imagined he was dreaming
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem