Cold at every door
An iced moon lights up gardens
Even shadows shiver
A shift in weather
New sun mops nature's wet floors
Dry patches appear
A night wind fumbles
The last leaf hangs defiant
Soon bareness will rule
Rains of wet blows
Lash larch and ancient oak
Sprays splash in silver
Music from the fields
Arias of birdsong blend
Until night shutters
On Autumn leaf paths
I skid on late September
Leaves litter long lanes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ian...nice work as usual..Wayne