Holding up
whole world gets darker.
Stop shake off fear
smell brewing coffee, sigh
small pleasure
earned from hours typing.
Knees ache, distracting from
the brief quiet before
afternoon rush.
Almost quiet enough to hear
pencil on paper.
Those few nameless birds
still calling before winter sets in
fade into traffic noise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem