Late October Poem by Sinashta, Sidra

Dusk breezes are getting colder.
Winter trees are about to prosper.
Aspens quiver and willows whisper:
'Won't you stay here a bit longer? '

Sun power is getting weak,
Yet, our love is about to spread,
We'll let every pigeon speak.
And our tears will never be shed.

How lonely I had used to be,
And how sorrowful you were.
Until your love came to me,
And up the sky, left me there.

Be my beloved pigeon,
And I be your loving tree,
Guard you from unjust dungeons,
And keep me thriving and free.

So long I have air in my lungs,
And so long you have heartbeats,
My heart is where yours belongs,
And your breast is my head seat.