Peelings of the waning sun,
Stark fried strips of choking streets.
Does the autumn have a plan
To grant us a tray of treats?
Treats of yellowing leafage crude,
Treats of gossamer adrift,
Treats of bent wind-ridden wood,
Treats of craggy clouds swift.
Ardour - autumn's soothing sighs
To repent of stay futile.
Summer aftermath's demise
Lingers now for awhile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem