Gather or pluck;
Fall or die,
Stirs me to blink,
At the fall of a leaf,
Stirs me to spring
Ahead and fall back,
With the fall of a leaf,
Stirs the season,
Youth or old within,
With the passing sheen,
Stirs colors around,
Yellow, bronze and brown,
Stirs sadness within,
To see birds not singing,
To see roses out of town,
What has gone wrong?
Buds are not born,
And hopes lying shorn,
Wish to find out,
The reason soon,
As I muse upon,
I hear her rustling sound,
Stirring the leaves on the boughs,
Causing the fall of a leaf,
Whom I have loved most in life,
Pushing to grief that stirs my life......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem