Leaves whom the wind gently ripples
while the autumn's soul is passing,
leaves  tenderly  are coming near to the ground;
running down from the crests of the trees,
getting to the top of a line where is painted,
hereby the profound creativity of the Nature,
their sweet death.

Above the ground of an lightly brown bed,
where I fold my memories in the green time,
I fell I'm craving for hugs by the branches of the trees.

Autumn,
that kiss you in the wind that is not the storm,
neither forget nor burn the memories and the spring,
is the season where the branches of the trees embraced each other forever.


My faithful friend,
the summer has led me in the shining dawn,
overwhelmed me by the glare,
dazzling and flashing sunny seasons,
but it is not the leaf that is closed in the deeply of my heart.

My dear friend,
you are the autumn,
tenderly my friend,

you

are

forever.