A concert of bowed branches
Plays strings of wind
In harmony with
The rattled timpani
Of crackling, swirling leaves.
Half clothed trees,
Like bold coquettes,
Cast flirting tokens
Before their Autumn suitor.
Their crinkled kerchiefs
Drift like jewel-toned threads
To weave a covering
More multi-hued
Than any sultan’s carpet.
So as that chilly moon climbs
The dark and joyless sky,
Those shivering limbs
Clutch that color-quilted-comforter
Snugly to their roots.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem