Like a top, it is spinning
Down, shift, down, shift, down
Until it touches the ground
A leaf from a tree in the autumn air
The breeze plays with it
Picking up the fragile thing
Moving it through the cold air
And sets it down with a gentle motion
The clouds shuffle and tumble in
They begin to cry, spilling tears below
They pick up the leave and take it along
Journeying far from its former place
It's crisp now and cracked
The veins the run along its form
Are pronounced and defined
No longer flexible, it remains in one position
Soon the sunlight stabs at it like a knife
Withering and crunching it fades
Into dust it crumbles
Mixing with the ground and growth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem