In AutumnThe lovely summer has been leaving,
and with its wealth arrived the fall.
The spiders are all kindly weaving
the garments for the festival.
They're weaving for the celebration,
with hindlegs practiced in the trade,
the veils of elves as decoration
for hill and dale and mead and glade.
Yes, thousand silver threads donated
into the wind to turn and bend
are softly drifting where they're fated
toward the unconscious, settled end:
They're drifting toward a fairy landing
where love extends its shy caress
and softly ties, with silken banding,
the shepherd to the shepherdess.
P.S. For me, it should say in Awe-tumn :-)))) I am in awe that a poem so quintessentially German could be translated so perfectly into English. (translation by Walter A. Aue)
More to follow soon, just waiting for the rain to nail me to the computer, downloading thousands of pictures and posting again.
|Lighthouse of Falshöft|