The quietude of this small settlement
depends upon the brooding elements
in unison. Since July's come,
their calm Adagio
for Pampas Grass and reeds
and the leaves of the Willows hangs in the air
as if with quick
hawk's wings
our Fall will thunder
and the Last Movement
for us won't be like this
too easy Summer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem