The night is black and cold and streetlamps in rows
The highways abandoned for whiskey and wine
The world is so empty it could almost be mine
The sting of sulfur hangs in the air, the scented mists of firework smoke,
the muted booms of distant celebrations..
Under the white moon, the boardwalk frost glittering like granite
Thousands of stars at my feet!
A trio of empty picnic tables, and each with a flag
The laboured flaps of the heavy fabric, loud in the night
Echoing out into silent miles -
Through a window I spy, a family of five
All sitting down to a dinner
Raising their glasses and toasting together, the last of December
To yet another year they'll remember!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem