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Fall is:
Dragonflies, empty nests
Pumpkin pies, shedding trees
Brown meadows, Monarch butterflies
Crisped carpets of Autumn leaves
It's a frosty feel of finality
That all good things must end
That things must die Is simply reality
Tis not a question of if, but when
It's a harbinger of things to come
As well a reminder of times gone by
A pregnant pause to ponder, muse and wonder
Where we are and who we are…and Why
It's a time of transient Nature
Replete with changes everywhere
Absent name and nomenclature.
As familiar tho' (as we all know)
…As smoke draped pon' the air…
And that‘s what makes Autumn great
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem