This autumn day, gossamer mist
lies low across the field kiss'd
by tiny glist'ning pearls cleaving
to tawny buckled blades weaving
amongst fawn thistles in their midst.
Beside this matted mound exists
a swath of grass on which persists
a green woodpecker hammering
this autumn day.
The stoic far cornered oak resists
the urge to shed into the mist
its glorious copper crowning,
shinning in the diffused rising
of the sun that stubbornly persists
this autumn day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
some most enjoyable images. love it.