Autumn Song

The sobbing strings
Of violins
In autumn’s key
Grate on my soul,
Droning and dull
With lethargy.

Pallid, ashen
And choking, when
The clock chimes,
I reminisce
On what I miss
And I cry;

And in its dusty
Callous gusts,
The wind takes me —
Blown here and there
Upon the air,
A withered leaf.

This is a translation of Chanson d’automne by Paul Verlaine. If you read French, I highly recommend the original.