The Autumn Night of Gyeong-Ui Line Park

The sun’s on the verge of setting, the light

Run into to window panes and bright.

Open café, the smells of the coffee,

To beneath the trees, it spreads luridly.

The warm steam of a cup is instantly disappeared

And the fall-blows make the wood-air be cleared.

Some leaves’re tinted lightly on the trees

And others still dark green and the breeze

Is blowing in the wood. On the Stones of brooks,

The sphagnum waves and it greenly looks.

On the surface the ripples arise and flowing

And on the bench, an old man looks down, the flowing.

After the office, many people

Are gamming, and turning on the electric-candle,

One by one in the stores. The sparrows

Aren’t seen, and a day’s time passed like arrows.

In wood now, the grass-bugs are forgetting

To chirp and the dragon-flies aren’t flying.

Under the trees, there’s a way

And on a bench, people look around a day,

The young with short shirts are jogging

And the old are slowly talking and walking.

The young cheer their cups of beer, in the pubs

The darkness fall and dark are the shrubs.

(18^th, Oct., 2023, Kinsley Lee)