I have hidden from October,
What I had divulged to April - the essence of
Flavescence, which October bears on her soft
Head.
The crown - the multi-coloured
Laurels of the seasons.
I once told an honest harlot at a tavern
Something more honest than herself:
Autumn is when leaves, like fruits, ripen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a lovely poem.... a huge 10+++++