A mature apple was in my hand,

the season of wisdom was on the Land.

The mornings were pure glass,

the dew was still on the grass.

Amber and red colors were background of blue,

to warm countries the birds flew.

Spreading maple has turned red.

He was afraid to lose his head,

as he was in unrequited love with the rowan.

How much he wanted her to be his woman.

There was no leaves sough,

the webs  lace has wreathed around the bough.

The sunbeams ran among the trees,

a naughty breeze invited for a dance the leaves.

At last only one leaf agreed,

the rest preferred to bask in the sun,

they haven’t seen in it any fun.

The beauty of Indian summer

with picturesque and colorful gamma

our Lord has sent to the Earth

to meet a new season with a mirth.

He knew in advance and gave us another chance

to admire the beauty of nature again,

the warmth in our hearts to remain.

He gave us another touch of summer warmth,

so that we could overcome winter storms.

He left us the gift of consolation,

the gift of love and inspiration.

 

Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)