September

September
Hermann Hesse

The garden mourns,
Rain sinks coolly into the flowers.
Summer shudders
Peacefully towards its end.

Golden, one leaf after another
Drops from the high Acacia tree.
Summer smiles astonished and weak
Into the dying garden dream.

But still, by the roses,
It pauses and longs for peace.
And slowly closes its [large]
Now tired, worn eyes.

Translation: © David Paley