Sullenly, the primrose-pale, last patch of sun
Sets slowly in a moody, milky sky;
Above it, dissipated aircraft trails,
Their destinations long since arrived at, drift
Semi-disdainfully across some crude
Rough lumps of clumpy, humpy cumulus.
And, in the sulky atmosphere, hang,
Heavy in the wind-less afternoon,
The autumn trees, slumped apathetically,
Too enervated yet to shed their leaves
Still reluctant, as if they are forced to wait
For the chiding, biting breeze to shake them, like me,
Out of our indolent complacency.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This has the most colorful, striking language and imagery. I love the dissipated airplace trails; there is a feeling in here of forgotten time, of time slowed down or suspended, while we try to catch ourselves up with the coming season.