Enjoying its last footless dance,
The Autumn rain falls like a warm soap.
Where there is room, water sits,
And braces for the winter's rent.
A victorious soil relaxes,
Like an athlete on his back.
A frightened, anxious, rain,
Washes off a steep pavement.
People, running from being late,
Hurry inside, as on a curfew.
At night, the moving wind,
Advances the season.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem