The season’s last days
drift golden from the trees;
winter now whispers
its own arrival if you please.
A chill is in the air
and fog hangs in low;
yet it is 'her' memory
lingers on wherever I go.
The rain sounds so sweet
splattering at my feet,
but the beauty of Autumn
remains aglow within.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem