Repeating on and on without changing,
the boredom settled in
Lost in endless repetition,
ten miles South of what might have been
A broken record skipping, skipping,
the groundhog's prediction thin
Burrowing out the same old hole
—ten miles South of what might have been
(Dreamsleep: December,2020)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem