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Poem

The dull and bare farmland
speaks with sad murmurs,
seeming laments of lost harmony;
the naked trees' branches are cathedral's spears
vertically pointed to a Heaven
that's not complacent but echoes
with an air of startling silence...
suggesting that God is absent and rests
in the realm of timeless eternity,
while Nature below is as helpless
and contemptuous as an unhappy human!  

The peach-faced wanderer carries his enormous grief
as a weight, have his wrinkles widened and his steps
diminished in the agility of movement during Fall?
He loves Naturel and the spectacle of the changing leaves
as he paints the idyllic landscapes on small canvas;
only then he finds tranquility, purpose, and relief
observing sailing boats by a steep cliff,
watching foaming waves break and roll!  

Shy violets show their adorable purple petals
dripping with dew, they wish it would rain
to keep them moist attracting butterflies and bees;
will they die from the drought and begone soon?

Amid the sadness, there's also a joyful song about wine,
it's not the usual robin warbling from a branch for pride...   
hear the robust voice of that farmer returning home hungry and tired,  
carrying a bucket of red grapes with a sweetness that is unrivaled!  

Doesn't the late evening evoke sadness,
that feeling that many seem to express...
when all quietens down and every bell chimes
to set heavenly music to a poem that rhymes?

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