The mountain flames
In fire brush orange and tincture's gold,
Green malt the hills with pastel flecks
Where slate white birches
Column cathedrals of another order,
Whose luminescent leaves reveal
God's power as a simple thing.
Sunlight on a leaf that dwarfs the beauty
Of Europe's finest glass and foretells in barren form
An endless summer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The beauty of these brief lines has touched my autumn soul. Thank you for your wonderful comments. You have made my day. As always, Sandra