From the life of green leaves

The twigs of a sleepy maple

Bring chilly morn through the pane.

The volume of autumn fables

We are reading all over again.

Some flourishing leaves of the summer

Now – just crunching rag at the trees

And some drink the last golden rummer

Whirling in cool autumn breathe.

The others still hanging and watching the sky,

Just wait for divine inspiration:

To dance in the last unavoidable fly,    

To taste innermost fascination.

But there is one which is merely late,

Which said no farewell to the sunshine,

It stubbornly grows denying the fate

While bright is the horizon line.