& nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; & nbsp; Autumn is coming.
Barely moving waters of the river.
Distant expanses do not hear the horn.
The forest around is mysterious, as if inanimate.
The blue fog floating above the head.
Here and autumn is coming, pulls cold.
Puddles are covered with thin ice.
They pull their bare fingers up to the sky.
Grass and bushes whisper over the river.
Covers all dorozhenki yellow leaf fall.
Autumn dresses up in a festive outfit.
The color of the ruby aspen rustles.
A flock of cranes flying over the ground.
Cranes wave their wings at us in the sky.
Storm clouds are seen in the distance.
Summer has flown summed up.
Each season has its own time limit.