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Sailing there floating over the tempest, marine color promise better weather,
at the bottom of the city I’m stuck, seeing the typical traffic, I don’t approach the embankment, too far from my time
busy as usual, the stained-glass windows are orange themed,
crossing avenues, strange people pursing egotistical dreams, the dream’s clothes are my night’s tapestry, my pillow is a collage broken
rainy days announce the autumn path, the season where spiders weave silk, so resistant as steel,
spiderwebs are hanging everywhere, like the black birds
I asked for a summer midnight, instead I received autumn’s afternoon, a still strong sun touching my body, doesn’t hurt me yet

Dear autumn, be soft with the cinnamon spice too scattered out over petite bourgeoisie coffees, and the big apple’s pile harvested from my brother’s tree,
apple tree he wants so much, opposite to the pear tree I see each day carrying still pears.

The seagull’s flight doesn’t afraid the impetuousness of time.
Provider of flowers and stories, dear autumn, stay more benevolent before the chestnut starts to blind himself
The failed leaf is dancing as a ballet ballerina. How she can overcome any debut?
Isn’t extraordinary?