Roses, almost unaffected
petals sweet light apricot
under a tepid November sun
against the dark garden green

against the dark garden green
those sweet November roses
even try to ravish our senses
exuding still perceptible perfume

exuding still perceptible perfume
make our hearts grow mournful
for irretrievable summer rollicks
for lost lightness and jauntiness

for lost lightness and jauntiness
we shouldn’t whine too much
O.K., they’ll whither and die
ah, ridiculous poets‘ yammering.