She spills through, with light and with stone.
Locking down - all within the empty scale.
Remembering what we scatter,
Impervious to the drumming; the driving willful chord.
Her crown in soul, her myriad of pitch,
Tinges auburn and olive; swaying steadily in decay.
All this poison we shatter,
These momuments that flicker,
Thank god to you; pass by in shadow.
When time fails the stains on stone,
Her music in russett; in amber will deafen,
These questions to simplicity,
On cold autumm night,
She stays with her browns, her golds and her light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem