Getting Older
My heart is smitten
For the beauty of fall.
The changing of the guard:
When green turns to gold, burnt,
Yellow, purple, and orange.
Leaves scatter,
Winnowing down.
As gravity woos them
To the ground
Savory, crisp air.
Unlike the sultry summer heat,
Or the bluster of wintry winds.
The days are shorter.
The sound of rustling leaves.
The fall winds blow amidst the trees.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem