There is no softer sound
upon a mellow morning gold
than your heart as it bounds
in a slumber keeping hold.
The sun is outshined
by that merrier blue
waving in your eyes
as it rolls on through.
What forest stands
in its post autumn delicacy
that wouldn't demand
a likeness to your fervency?
Tell me what can I say
with my tongue tied up
at the end of my bray,
when you've had enough
could you stand to stay?
- Samuel Richard Leonard
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem