High on autumn gold
and the russet smell
of burning leaves.
Air clear-bright,
tasting of apples
and peaches stolen
from a neighbors tree.
Warmed with memories
of last summer
But crisp enough to
make you realize that
it won't be long before
the river freezes over
and the north wind
slithers in through
unmended cracks around
the window caulking.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem