It is the exquisite and early hour
The sudden sunrise reddens the sky.
Through the autumn mist
The garden leaves fall.
Their fall is slow. We can follow them
with our eyes and recognize
The oak by its leaf of copper,
The maple by its leaf of blood.
The last ones, the most rusty
Fall from the bare branches,
But it's not winter yet.
A fair light sprinkles down on
Nature and in the whole rosy sky,
You'd think it was snowing gold.