I look at fallen leaves and think how simple it could be.
Simple, if I were as the leaf upon the tree,
That when the season of plenty has past,
I should not live to see the winter.
But instead, fall so softly, and wither in such peace,
That no one would remember or miss me.
And none would say I was wrong to fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem