Three Sighs In Autumn Poem by Joan Xie

The first leaf fell
An accident

A million leaves drift
Butterflies

Leaves turned
From bright green to glittering
Sun

*

Boat moored. Lake empty.
High flying the heron.

Straight to the hilltop, I can see
that the forest turned, colors uneven,
some in flame, some remain old green, older that the heron.

Oh Autumn, are you cruel? are you cruel?
Without you, would the death come much swiftly?
Would I feel better to face the winter ultimatum?

Dusk soft. Vine ripe.
High flying the heron.

Oh Autumn, without you,
Would I still pick the apple so attentively to preserve its seeds?
Would I be rather reckless and free of bondage?


*

Death or birth
My inner autumn
Has never been barren.