“The winter's comin' on
Summer's almost gone, ”
sang Mr. Morrison that
night as I drove to forget
the lingering sting of an
oppressively muggy span
of fiery days. Crisp,
chill gusts blew through
my car windows, and I
felt the inaugural signs
of autumnal glory. It
was a welcome renovation
in a season of destruction,
when all I knew to be
true was pulled out from
under me. The Phoenix
scorched and rebirthing
with the promise of virgin
expanses to explore anew.
Beaming from the feel in the
air, rejoicing for the stripping
away the past in the falling
leaves, euphoric in thoughts
of things to come, savoring
all minutia embodying
another September.
this has got an excellent flow and an almosteuphoric rhythm
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the feel and flow of this poem as well as the subject which is lightly and elegantly put together, Steve