a saxophone is grieving
an instrumental season
is coming to an end
sharp brass is yielding
to muted oboe moods
sadder weather
the violins weep
like willows in the wind
a gray cello rumbles
I feel the kettle drum
like my own heart
percussion of thunder
the voice is like rain
tears of the contralto
she knows my sorrow
she is the vanished girl
a gentle guitar rift
a lost breeze of melody
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem