Walking at dawn's break I felt
A touch of fall in morning breeze;
A hint of chill and azure skies,
Of goldenrod and scarlet leaves.
Tastes of pumpkin and nutmeg spice,
Of apple cider, frosty fresh,
And smells of pine and cedar fires
And stubbly oat fields being threshed.
As fog rolls off the cooling soil,
A time of rest will roll in soon,
When toil of spring and summer's sweat
Are memories shared by harvest moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem