It's Late At Night Poem by Linda Harnett
It's Late At Night
It’s late at night,
The winter gale blows cold,
And angry howling,
Speaks outside my door.
The trees so bruised,
And battered by the storm,
Their sturdy trunks are bent,
Doubled in two.
The branches take the brunt,
They bend and sway,
Wave desperately,
Seeking respite there.
It’s late at night,
The storm takes full control,
I try for sleep,
And leave them to their fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 3:26:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
