Into my bed, I acquiesce
to the cyclopean task of
ending the turmoil of the day.
This is the single task that I so dread.
My weary mind does protest,
as I labor through the night
in this sleepless moil
of a restless mind is my plight
As I lay exhausted and think
of that poem so well Frosted.
I know that I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem