Child hush
Feel the rush
Of long lost winds
On copper tins
Deflecting the hot sun
In the South
Dry of mouth
The sweat will roll
Hotter than coal
Down your back and buns
The green fades
With grass blades
To yellow red
And pumpkin head
Come pick your leaves at will
Cider nip
Skinny dip
For Autumn moons
Come none too soon
Our souls welcome the chill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well articulated and nicely embellished with poetic rhyme and rhythm. Thanks for sharing, Pasquale.