It is quiet here today;
No jumping on and off the walls of children,
No small huddles of people talking,
No muted responses to an almost incomprehensible droning,
No scraping of spades on the stony ground,
Only the gentle but insistent fall of light winter rain;
How sad, how strange,
That you are not with us to be aware of these things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem