It's late October.
It has been such a grey day.
It's now getting late,
And the witching hour will soon
Creep upon us all.
This lonely road seems endless.
The ghostly voice of
Rain whispers among the leaves.
The wind begins to
Die; only darkness prevails
Will we make it home?
We are so tired and afraid!
The ghostly voice of Rain whispers among the leaves. The wind begins to Die; only darkness prevails Will we make it home? We are so tired and afraid!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Once again autumn came with her sad heart, with its blackness and short light, it is the season of death and separation, how beautiful is your poem and you wrote it at the right time