The sleepy sun
Becomes a short-term guest
Cutting visits for the sake of rest;

The trees remembered the advice
Buzzed by the bees -
- 'If coming to yourself
Becomes your self-imposed goal,
Shake off all those from your shoulders
That spend your earned where-with-all!' -
- And the leaves fall,
Leaving the trees naked
To the touch of coming cold.

Once green twigs,
Now just a soggy kindle -
- The gone summer days' post-mortem,
Hard to set the fire in my hearth
In the oneness of my Autumn... .