Autumn is a widow full of grief,
all in tears being extremely sad.
The fallen leaves look under our feet
as yellow as the faces of the dead.
And sometimes during quite a banal talk
with no intention anyone to hurt,
while just as usual going for a walk
we are often trampling these ones into dirt.
Then none of us remember what they did
in summer giving shadow so wide
that it could save the human from the heat
with birds among them singing in delight.
You should not think, my friend, that I do live
in dreams of making useless plans or things -
I am not sorry for the fallen leaves,
but for some people whom we treat like this.
Gennady Pokriwailo
Traslated by the author.
The Fallen Leaves
© Copyright: Геннадий Покрывайло, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123040503695
Свидетельство о публикации №123040503695
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