Leaves like crackling oat bran, lying strewn
across a bright green winter lawn.
Soaking up the less intense rays of the sun
as it sits higher up in the heavens over us.
Lighter, freer, procuring the best of living
and dying, holding it all close to your heart
for times of intense saddened recollections.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem