expectant, the autumn wind holds still.
each rustling of a thousand leaves
imbue,
this solitude with natures view:
and with the papery whispered tone,
of each drying, fading leaf,
a presence born on chilled air,
weakened sun failed to warm,
caresses skin, with cold touch,
natures hand escapes veils clutch.
sat here: listening to an endless sigh,
grass, it moves in mimicry,
and taken as a whole i glimpse
natures form, and
broken from the veils demesne,
natures endless gaze espies,
my ethereal form in blinking eye,
shedding tears for such short life.
borne of void,
whenced returned,
fleeting life,
yet bound to game.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem