Classic Poem

Soon autumn will come.
Evenings talk to us, friendly,
trees cast shadows bare like gestures of old people
darkly toward the night,

and everything wavers with uncertainty,
oddly, like quiet, shallow sighs. ...
(Because it's not yesterday, it will be tomorrow)
our thoughts will whisper to each other.

— So the autumn has returned.
And the autumn pauses again, and
like someone asking for forgiveness. ...

soon, for having not forgotten, as a keepsake,
but leaving no keepsake, it will pass by.
The autumn ... and ... again, one evening —