With greyness of the sky
and ground so black
I come out of my grave
for a midnight snack
I Lurk in the hills
travel in form by the night,
the blood of a victim
flows faster with fright
These roses are black
I press their skin to a thorn
the blood that comes forth
is what I adorn
Love lost is not,
I never sip on my food
their blood is now in me
so no need to brood
My hunger now quenched
no longer chilled to the bone
surround by millions
but I still feel alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem