In September Drums

In the morning I wake up the cliff

echo, off your own

a strange yoik.

Somewhere far away

September rumbling drums,

votes allow forest

hummocks. little people

I guess in some pad,

the last day of the radius

looking for the way to a warm.

Inside the cavity of the mountain

some secret place is.

There's an old-time

the law, and the strange is free

the power base. It lives in the expectation

winter, and the snow that

all the secret people

hide. Then it is

period invisible

the world live without fear,

and mountains, cliffs

inside the blossom.

Only the writer's ears

is accurate, and mind open

uninhibited. He must not only hear,

when any autumn drums

play the rhythm of goblins,

and the fairies from the cold,

weak dance

welcoming.