retreat was just a thought
that hid from sunlight.
Day the marker of time's passage,
issues unresolved, and piling deep,
questions, all unanswered,
clutter on the threshold of the dawn
while fear waits
for confirmation
and hope stands firm
all cheeky, hands on hips
and stalwart
in the light that threatens
news.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem