Lifted moon, mystery in swaying crescent
Autumn stars close on still polite dreams
Of prophesied winter. Hold out your hand
To save the tattered summer.
Let's box up tales of a rye November
To remind ourselves
Leaves may sometimes speak in tongues
And dance to the ecstatic breeze,
To uncoil recalcitrant Autumn.
The Earth must stretch to find it's hearth
Every hide-and-seek season of the year.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem