It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
The leaves are dry and passive
And the flowers are dead and inactive
Later, it is snowing
The neighbors of the inn
See the deer pass by
All the holy day long
And during the whole evening
We feel the change of the nerves
To welcome the new season
Where we are far from the harvest.

We can hear from very far away
The wind humming in the hay
The vibrations are not monotonous
Since the hummingbirds of the hills
Make their spectacular presence felt
And the poets in the imaginary gardens
Describe everything that happens
In the country where the mass
Remains insensitive, benighted and glaikit
And where the elected corruptors boast.
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.

P.S. Translation Of ‘Les Cantiques Antiques De L’Automne’.

Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.

Little, speedy hummingbird,
Dashing place to place,
And all I see,
A smear of green,
Zipping by my face.

Little, shiny hummingbird,
Always flashing by,
Your colors bright,
Catch the light,
Glinting low and high.

Little, hungry hummingbird,
Flitting by do fast,
Dewdrops fall,
From flowers tall,
You sip from as you pass.

Then little, tired hummingbird,
Perch upon a twig,
Wings quit swooping,
Eyelids dropping,
Dream of growing big.