The garden sits getting up
The twigs of oranges
With winds awaken flap their wings light.
In the morning garden the fall recedes
Last leaves lying far off
Are shaking off their frost.
Riding on the winds
Two children are drawing in golden picture-book
A few sunbeams untying the golden fairy tale.
Over my back getting hesitatingly milk bottle in my hand
Father"s side face like a textbook appears.
Outside the garden morning paper is fluttering,
Lies that are ruined again play a coquette,
The winter"s hands
Just arriving in first train,
The autumns" ruins discharged yesterday evening
Sweep.