The Autumn
A maple leaf can be dried and left in a book for the one who is searching.
The leaf does not regret that it was once green. The poet Autumn has colored it with a golden pen.
If the little leaf falls onto your hat – soon a good thought will fall as well. An autumn one, of course.
To be covered in leaves from head to toe is far better than being covered in worries and spite.
If you place a maple leaf under your pillow, nightmares will not trouble you, and an autumn bird will wander into your dream.
The autumn bird knows all the songs of the world, but sings very quietly.
If churches gave out tree leaves, people would write poems.
You may greet autumn without your hair, but there will always be enough maple leaves for a wig.
And how the autumn wind smells!.. – like an old postcard, a paintbrush bristle, and a grandmother’s floral scarf sewn in spring.
On the autumn journey, there is little sun, but you may wander through mysterious mists,
wrap yourself in cobwebs with tiny drops of dew, and listen to the prayer of a squirrel that fell asleep with a nut in its paw.
Beneath an autumn maple, you may sigh and paint a sparrow.
In autumn, you may also laugh. That laughter is different than in spring – like that of an old man, yet with specks of gold on the tip of the tongue.