The leaves turn their heads to hide their blush,
Revealing colors, red, and orange, as if from air brush,
Away they turn to hide in shame,
And hide their green as if a game,
But games must end at one point in time
Revealing green, but only when it will shine
To spring they call, for sweet, sweet sun,
For dew drops who glisten in that morning sun,
Spring is when their bells have rung,
The game is over, time to reveal
The luscious greens, not only me do they appeal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem