Oh no, the poems are coming
The seasons are at fault
It is like they're all collected
Inside my mental poetry vault.
Autumn first is on my mind
As leaves turn brilliant colors
Winter with its snowy white
Christmas is like no other.
Then we turn the corner because
We will start a brand new year
So naturally when one is a poet
The poems are always so clear!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem