Quiet Autumn mornings with a mist arising
The crunch of leaves as flocks are flying
Cold fingers search under warm garments
Musty smells as the country laments
The end of the sun as memories do fade
And we await the Winter's cold escapade.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautifully written poem, sir Paul....10+++++++++++