Off the mountain, and under
A foggy cover
Swoops a devouring, of crude
Colouring, once burning through.
Of one vehemence of sound
With the air, unbound:
The claws of the wind, the blind
Unreason of its impulse.
In their inclement grip snaps
Summer's wand, that taps
To luscious readiness, trees.
Bleeding magic Autumn lies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Magic autumn lies, great write