Remembering the days of old, when father raked the leaves of
Golden, yellow, brown and orange
Jumping into the huge crisp pile, I tossed them all about
As my father raked them on top of me
I would creep out from under the pile laughing.
With leaves hanging on my hair and clothing
What a wonderful season. What a wonderful reason
Just to play in the leaves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem