Isam Hussain (8-12-1938 / Iraq)
A haunting sound is heard softly whistling,
like a magic flute in the distance playing,
luring summer leaves to hum and sway,
to don new colours, to dance and to play;
and like a Mexican Wave the merriment spreads:
an infectious mood carried by the autumn winds.
Soon the Autumn Ball is in full swing,
oblivious to the fate autumn will bring.
The sound grows louder, the party raucous,
the swaying erratic, the movement vigorous,
and like whirling Dervishes unable to stop,
autumn leaves reluctantly begin to drop.
Comments about this poem (Autumn Leaves by Isam Hussain )
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