Autumns descend like birds of fire, with wings spread wide
Autumns descend like birds of fire, with wings spread wide,
covering the earth with a carpet of leaves burning in the colors of sunset,
each rustle an echo of lost childhood, a cry of time,
where the soul seeks shelter among the shadows stretching lazily.
On the paths of time, autumns walk with the steps of a lost soldier,
bumping into the high walls of unfulfilled desires and dreams,
awakening in hearts passionate loves like flames consuming the forests,
covered by the cold rain of regrets and broken hopes.
Autumn’s whispers flow through the dewdrop tears of morning,
under a sky that blushes like the cheek of a young lover,
sanctifying the silent altars of unfulfilled desires,
where humility bears its burden like a wooden cross.
The stars, like lost fireflies, watch over the tar-black sky,
an ocean of darkness and light that seem to embrace.
Autumns spread their mantle of longing and hope over the world,
traveling among the long shadows of ancient memories.
Each fallen leaf is an untold story, a secret of the earth,
each breeze a song of eternity seeking its voice.
Through this flow of consciousness, we gather our dreams like ripe fruits,
seeking meaning in the depths of autumn,
where joy and melancholy intertwine like two loves in a dance of time,
a song of life that passes and remains,
a call of youth that does not fade, but burns with a living flame.
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