The morning is crisp,
There is a certain cleanliness,
In the air.
Tiny clouds, that look just like sheep,
High in the stratosphere,
Stretch from one horizon to the other.
Leaves, in multi-colored brilliance,
Cover the trees,
And float gently to the cooling ground.
The final long beautiful days,
Of Indian Summer,
Grudgingly give way at last.
Autumn at last is on it's way,
In all it's glorious splendor,
A most lovely time of year.
8/16/11 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
my favorite time of year... very well written... thank you!