Poems are like memories
They get lost one by one
Like falling autumn leaves
Sometimes seem almost done
Yellow brown red scent
Into the footsteps going
What was suggested or meant
When life its pace is slowing
The music for no instrument
Only the colors bleaching
In garden's rainy days relent
When to the end it’s reaching
In the flower seeds of tomorrow
That cautiously life prolongs
A hope of a dream to borrow
With next year's springtime songs
Poems that now have begun
With shadings falling silence
Within the autumn shadowed sun
In nearness hue light blench
A light from a curving rainbow
Coming on with its pearly string
Afternoons ending glow
Soon to the winter shall sing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem