He strokes my hair,
while I lie awake but far away.
I know he wants to talk.
'Love, I...' What? How long will you stay?
I don't ask him. I don't dare...instead,
I tell him that he talks too much,
and reach out...to touch him there.
But all the while he looks at me,
with sadness in his eyes,
and even when the end is near it never goes away.
He gathers me close and in his sleep,
tells me I should stay.
And my eyes get hot, a little moist,
because I know I won't.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem