Gloom and grayness,
Rain is weeping.
Autumn — sadness in November,
Leaves are falling, soft and tender,
Dreams lie still, in quiet sleeping.

Mists lie white, like a soft veil;
Long is the morning’s pale light.
Nature waits for snow and blizzards,
Forest stands — stripped, almost bare.

The year has passed in toil and care;
Soon, very soon — the New Year’s near.
Life goes round in endless motion;
What gifts will it bring, hidden there?