Autumn Is Coming

The Summer is slowly passing, and the green is dying, The garden of flowers loses its color, The white storks, slowly, slowly are being lost in the heights, Tomorrow's world will be much duller. The scent of the flower perishes in steam at dusk, It smells like a dried, baked rusk. In grandparent's yard, under the beam, a deserted nest, already misses the cheerful swallow. Up, on the house's chimney, one stork, almost lost, looks around melancholy for the last time. From the mountain's sheepfold to the village, the longing shepherds descend with their sheep. Caterpillars wreak havoc on the orchard, Orderly, the good soldiers set out on their crusade. A small leaf cries, scared of falling under the strength of the wind. The old trees are more and more troubled, Yesterday they were full of life. Today they are rusty and tired. The evening is coming earlier, and the sun is getting sadder, A cricket "guitarist" is grieving. The rain is getting colder, and the clouds are getting grayer, The vast plains are dry, burned, withered. From the hill, The Autumn slowly walks down towards the valley, It's on the way, for sure. There's no other way!