Wind in the trees releases the leaves
invites them to fly onto rooftops, cling to the eaves.
Nostalgia hangs in the air, neighbors burn
their quickly raked mounds; try to beat the
rain predicted. Admiring the colors of
yesterday blanketing my yard, the
darkening skies overhead sends a chill that
awakens me to my shivering senses. I retreat and
yield to the need for warmth;
snuggle by a glowing fire as rain arrives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem