The old, tired leaves and I- fading fast
to the dead of winter straight ahead
and January coming soon-
pray silent for a moment’s peace,
dream solemn to the afternoon.
An angel took my hand, then led
to dances, kisses under a starlit moon.
She lay me down on a snowy bed
where once our secret lovers place,
where fingers stroked my weathered face
then drifted toward the windy slope
waved goodbye and left without a trace
until a faded dream tomorrow, I hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem