Striking clock welcomes autumn to town:
This year notably heavy and hard,
Fallen fruit hits the ground, and the count
Is the number of fruits in the yard.

By this music, important and clear,
Who insists that the clock must still go?
The old garden performs with no fear
Looking strangely indifferent though.

Nature’s downcast mood looking tender,
Love and kinship get easy to see.
As if you were no random bystander,
But the culprit of its jubilee.