The leaves of the Chinese parasol trees fluttered down,
and the four seasons were changing.
It was the things which I could know first
as the hint of autumn before my eyes.
In my study, the light of the poet was shining the night.
In the path of the village,
on the midnight for about from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m.,
the chirps of the insects were increasing.
The wind was blowing off the bamboos,
and the sound of the wind blowing through
the many as thousand bamboos was sounding.
Then in my letter, I thought about a friend
to talk about the good things honestly,
and worried about him variously.
The natural disasters every year were difficult to endure.
I wrote a short-formed poetry
about the hint of autumn sadly and silently.
Masaya Samura (pen name: Gensai Sirakawa) in Osaka, Japan
at July 24, 2017 (for July 23)