Here is the bleak autumn
of our mislived existence,
in its vivid colours
and bright sunlight,
with its still green grass
and leaves filling branches
of alders, birches and junipers,
refusing to fall
in mid-September.
Here, among the graves
caressed by golden rays,
we mourn,
both what was and wouldn't be,
standing in the growing
northern breeze.
13.09.2020
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