Consequence of the season
Hath deprived thee thy extravagance
And made you frozen
To doubt your stance
Now your dance is empty
And you mourn without sound
For thy filth is plenty
Blindfolding the eye of your ground
Again the winds descend
And thy courtesies are in vain
For thy nakedness are not mend
And double is thy pain
But if thy stance be kept
Relief is to thy agony
Abundant offspring to glorify thy attempt
For thy leaf to be tawny is an irony
Added to thy freshness
Is admiring winds to blow
Making thy sway of joy endless
And thy span slow
(28/11/2007)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem