In Autumn

I know there are those who ask: Why does he not

sing with the same wild harmonies as before?

But they have not seen the labors of an hour

the work of a minute, the prodigies of a year.

I am an aged tree that, when I was growing.

uttered a vague, sweet sound when the breeze caressed me.

The time for youthful smiles has now passed by:

now, let the hurricane swirl my heart to song!