I fall asleep with nothing.
I'm falling, falling and falling.
Oh, the bonnie maiden is running, running, and running.
Waking in the morning with snow falling out the window.
Looking for nothing because, all I'll be doing is something.
The morning is bleak, mystrious and unforgetable.
The sun a dull colour that crepth through thy hair.
The cold touching thy skin and refreshing the air.
Seeping in thy bones and chilling thy-self straight through.
Wishing, wishing, and wishing until it becomes numbing.
Thy beheld thy-self lonelyness that I've chosen.
For all thy time that I've spend: spinning in a wheel, diddle to be foregotten, and covered in blankets of cold that bring warmth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem