My yoke fellow who talks about Fall and yellowing of the foliage.
He always carries his untidy diary and there are few blank pages left behind.
He wants me to scribble something on those torn pages.
I write; Hey! Chum you may call it Fall but I pronounce as Autumn.
Anyway this is the season between Summer and Winter.
My dear yardmaster, your yardstick is not enough to measure this lengthy journey.
Only the invisible who knows about the Unit?
Dedication to my poetess friend Sandra.Fowler who paints 'Autumn' in her poems attractively without any brush marks.
[ This notion pushed me today while I was jogging along the Manhattan beach.]
jogging along Manhattan Beach! Wow, you're really getting around!
I believe it was Robert Frost who wrote, 'nothing gold can stay', but your poem will, for words are forever. My thanks to a treasured friend who is also one of the finest poets on poemhunter. Take care. Warmest regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nimal, Your capacity to capture the moment and share it with humour and self assurance is inspiring. In particular your words about Sandra Fowler 'who paints 'Autumn' in her poems attractively without any brush marks.' are spot on and superbly expressed. You are two fine poets who recognize one another's soul. love, Allie xxx