Warm air has driven out the cold,
The sun blazes in skies azure,
When leaves were green instead of gold,
And rains, some ardently would pour.
Ah, that is Spring indeed, but Fall
I have in mind to write about,
When colder winds begin to call,
And Winter's coming they would shout.
That was on a bleak November
When skies were low, and night was nigh,
While as we kiss, as I remember,
She whispered sadly, 'Love, goodbye.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem