The bright sky is already tired;
The forsaken night returns to its place;
A place of silence in the bustling city.
While the world settles down.
In the meantime, the uproar falls silent;
Everyone listens, but few hear, the tale of the night.
I'm tired, I'm going to rest.
Please tell me, you lonesome night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem