Spring nor summer can compare with Autumn's
Ripening beauty; its subtle colours:
Rusted reds and browns; greens, golds and ochres
Cover the trees; and are liberally
Scattered over groves in late October.
It is indeed a solemn season. Yet
There's a perfect blending of light and shade.
Where life's joys and sorrows intermingle;
Where we gather in the harvest of our
Annual gains and losses so patiently.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem