Here is a little poem about a thing that comes with autumn and whose charm is as unclear to you as that of an autumn morning, with its coldness, and with its sunshine, and with its haziness, and with its tendency to make you wish it doesn’t go away so quickly.
Well, here I am describing and even (damn…) naming things I haven’t a clue about.
Or maybe I have. It’s the haziest clue possible, though.
she is like rain
when you hear her talk,
you could be lying on grass,
and letting her words soak you,
ground you in your field of autumns’
with autumn comes rain
Have a good day,