AUTUMN ALLEGRO

Now come the haunted mists of worry; furrow-Time carves trenches on their crypt-faces; in the morning wind, elves and tiny jinn watch each other's small movements. Their holy fall from existence hardly lasts. The cobwebbed wrinkles of Autumn dance around, like Midas-leaves of rye, the small tremors of deprived Life; our happy-sad feelings are now played on broken guitar strings. - Now the season is making an unknown Procrostes bed for many.

Why is it that - in many cases - even the soul strength that can be collected bitterly is only enough to fall?! The shipwrecked Robinson purpose sends its exiled victims to the ring of fate; the morning is still putting on its fog boots. Who else can unfold maps in the whispering shadows of timelessness?! Above the surface, earth-smelling roots intended for overwintering whine. All of them feel - if only - they are not brainwashed or vain wild boar fools the current of extended uncertainty!

One of the grotesque quirks of leprosy works is that even the so-called the welfare social system also leaves much to be desired in many cases, to which the majority of people who live well do not even bother to listen. The biggest universal problem is that starvation and death are also a natural process somewhere. Would the borderline of tolerance for peace be on the street?! And that the house walls would rather reveal themselves and not each other! In the wake of the ladies, each of them looks like an idol that has been crushed by the future!