Leaves come
sailing down
from the trees
the wind
is whispering
as it goes by
colors of green
start to fade
the morning air
has a definite chill
fog riding in
on a carpet of thick
morning air
can hardly see
the tops of the houses
or the bridges afar
that stretch across
the river
coming up
a peek of sun
over the distant mountain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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