Thinking of Verlaine

Soon a chill will come,
and soon true gold will abound.
Autumn, today is your birthday
and a bird is singing!

But soon the leaves,
falling aimlessly,
shall stop dreaming.
Autumn, I’m already grieving.

There is a time
when colours hide
a time when we leave and rise.
Autum, I’ll miss you!

© Frédéric Georges Martin