Autumn Breakfast by Dezső Kosztolányi

 

This is what autumn brought. Cool fruit

on a glass bowl. Heavy, dark-emerald

grapes, jasper-bright pears,

its countless, exuberant, glorious jewels.

Waterdrop runs on a berry,

and rolls away, like the diamond.

It is the grandeur, unpitying, serene,

introverted perfection.

It would be better to live. But the trees across

are waveing to me with their golden hands.

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