The oak leaves fall and cover the earth,As if trying to cover its head,Wrapping up well lest it catch cold,To fall asleep for the season.
Earth, oh earth, how many things you hold,How do you not tire of all this uproar.You seem happy with all these colors,
Beautiful, bitter, perfect
You are tired of so many things,You thunder, you howl, you weep and shed tears,No one sees you, or hears you.
Whether we were here or not,You often say with a howl.But what can you do, oh earth,One day we hear you powerfully,
With the weight of pain on your head...
