The cloud with its cold damp skin
Has embraced the sky tightly;
The leafless orchard
Is alone day and night
With his pure and sad silence.
Its lyre is the rain and his song, the wind,
Its garment is of nudity cloak,
And if another garment it must wear,
Let its warf and woof be woven by golden ray.
They can grow or not grow, wherever they want or don’t;
There is neither a gardener nor a passerby.
The depressed orchard
Expects no spring.
If his eye sheds no warm luster
And on his face no leaf of smile grows,
Who says the leafless orchard is not beautiful?
It relates the tale of fruits, once reaching to heavens, now lying in the cold coffin of earth.
The leafless orchard,
Laughs in tearful blood,
Eternal, mounted on his wild yellow stallion,
Roams autumn, the king of seasons.