Summer has run its course;
the year is coming to a close.
There is a chill in the air,
leaves are strewn everywhere.
Shrubs and trees catch cold,
shake and shiver in the wind.
Leaves, of hues red and gold,
flutter and fall to the ground.
So sad to see autumn's beauty
scarred and humbled in this way.
Alas, the seasons must move on;
time waits for no one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem