Walk outside onto the scene,
pre-dawn gray, all is serene,
slivers of a morning bright,
on the pasture do alight.
October, but early snow,
came with night and winds that blow,
flakes strewn from a showerhead,
swirled while I slept in my bed.
But the leaves, they still remain,
looking like a frosted flame,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem