At its apex of brilliancy
On the final curtain call
Each and every telluric tree
Dazzles with colors of fall
Nimble zephyr of Autumn chills
Prompts cheeks and ears to redden
Blowing leaves on streets and hills
In a swirl of harvast wedding
Come the rustic flight of splendour
When the crops have cease to grow
Near a humming hearth so tender
All the senses gently flow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
come the rustic flight of splendour When the crops have ceased to grow. I like this a lot and like the poem you submitted today your rhythm is unerring. Tom Billsborough