Between summer and winter, the trees sway,
Shedding red leaves, burnt after playing with fire.
The sun begins to shine lazily,
Rising late and setting early.
The afternoon slips by,
As if morning is greeted only by night.
And the trees, abandoned by their leaves, grow lonely,
Pierce the clouds with their sharp branches until they feel pain.
The rain falls in fits and starts,
Revealing the pain without wanting to seem weak,
Bringing a chill in the air.
Each drop’s biting through the skin,
Bringing cold all winter long.