Smouldering Autumn Poem by Charl JF Cilliers
Smouldering Autumn
The mole snuggles in its womb
of earth. Worms staple leaf-mould
fragments onto clay. The catacombs
are opulent with death and cold
as the starlight on the ground
above. Smouldering leaves are stirred
by breezes without sound
before they fall unheard
and turn to ash.
But tremors can be heard
by those below, each crash
of every leaf, deep into the earth’s
rich ruins of rebirth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 7:28:00 AM # 1.0.0.1119
