There are few more days for November to depart;
wouldn't it be very sad to miss the beautiful colors
of a glorious month displaying them with graceful elegance?
Many poets and painters will remember them in their art.
Walking past hills with trees of auburn beauty that suspend breath,
nothing I've seen matches the serenity of an idyllic landscape
that another Monet would love to paint on a canvass near this lake;
sing lonely robin and watch him at work until late sunset.
Fascinating and mellowly November, your priceless gift is gladly accepted by me...
while wild flowers seem enamored with bees that seek pollen to make honey,
and they remind me of the softness and the sweetness of her strawberry lips;
last Fall we ran on these wind-swept fields, now alone this unhappy soul drifts.