The season's falling faster
than the pumpkins dare to slump
That the leaves go passing after
for the dew to form their sump
And the heat goes passing faster
for the wind to feel it's shunt
When the bees now falling past her
form the hive's now lower front
And the rain can fall as laughter
for the patter of the sound
When the volume falls as quickly
as the ear to feel the ground
And the heart can be to falling
what the soul is meant to be
When the Earth begins to breathing
what the Fall was meant to free
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem