By: Pawel Markiewicz

The mist heralds a dreamy, tender Apollonian dawn.
I philosophize about wings of hawk or king – sparrow.
In amazing grove at the Blue Hours – was born here a fawn.
You should adore as well as praise charm such a moony morn.

The beauty of world is indeed so pulchritudinous.
The autumnal meek leaves, having danced, at fallish stone, lie.
The picturesque mist is shrouded in mood of a sorcery.
I muse about my bosom full of druidic light dream.

The nightingale is under a starlet bewildering.
Flights of birdies are the moon-like thankful melancholy.
The autumnal mood is never ending, sometimes dazzling.
I have fallen in love with wizardly-like fantasy.

The fall belongs to bright Morning star with the enchantment.