I remember reading a poem, a Russian poem, I believe, and it said how beautiful it was for us to see the turning colors and the falling of dying leaves. The poet then asks the question: to whom is our death beautiful? Does anyone know what poem this is?What poem describes the beauty of dying leaves?
Sounds like Autumn Views by Balys Sruoga.What poem describes the beauty of dying leaves?
I don't know, but I can write a small poem about it.
Early October
mini tornadoes of leaves
new forest awaits.
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