In September…

IN SEPTEMBER…

In September,
When the plane-tree
Is a proud sight,
And when its short-lived,
Yellow grief
Goes with the wind,
It stands there
With its bare hands
Raised to the sky,
All frozen and chilled,
And begs the sun
To restore it to life.

Translated from Georgian

poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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