Walking at dawn's break I felt
A touch of fall in mellow breeze;
A whiff of chill and azure skies,
Of goldenrod and scarlet leaves.
Piquant pumpkin, nutmeg spiced,
Cider drawn from frosty press,
The scent of pine and cedar fires,
Dying oat fields mown and threshed.
Like fog rolls off the cooling soil,
So blows in rest, when rest is due;
And spring and summer's sweaty toils
Are stories shared by harvest moon.
Very nice! That got me all excited for Fall! I like your writing style
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
NIcely written. After a few reads, I found my attetntion drawn to the line Like fog rolls off the cooling soil, Somehow it felt awkward. Perhaps the word Like is my problem (And I mean MY problem, not yours) . I might have used As, as an alternative, but it is purely personal preference. This poem could easily be extended into a sonnet, with a few extra syllables per line, and a closing couplet.