One Night Late In Autumn
For the chrysanthemums in the back yard
Are overly dignified,
For the cosmos in the front yard
Are simply too tall…
When I alone looking at the troubled world outside
through the window, the Cyrano’s bluffing fades out
but, instead, the brownish smell of the dead leaves
fill the mouth.
For the loneliness unbearable, on this very night,
even a cricket behind the sent of brownish leaves
does not chirp because his wings were torn to pieces
from last night’s hoarfrost.
At dawn, the consumptive maiden, the moon,
sits by the window of the white ward sickbed,
hiding her face with the curtain, weeps
because Roxanne cried twice for her one and only
true love. Sobs because she had to be blown away
like a last leaf on the wall in this autumnal chilling wind.
Copyright ©
Su Ben | Year Posted 2015
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