Mystic dwelling
The house
I live in an old house
That likes
The quiet time.
At ten it slams doors
A sign that
It wants to sleep
So turn off the telly.
It gets up early
Groans and creaks
Till breakfast is over
If I go out
I leave a light on
It doesn`t like
Being in the dark
It gets resentful
And pictures fall off walls
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A captivating description of your dwelling. Old places have an air of mystery about them, something that draws the poets to them.