Oh gardener, gardener autumn has come how desolate is every branch and leaf. Oh gardener can you hear the trees’ lament standing leafless in rows mourners dressed in black, weeping? No tears come without reason no face is pale without an aching heart. The black raven of sorrow has entered the garden stamping his feet upon the withered green, “Where is the rose bed now, where are the lilies, the sweet jasmine and cypress? Where are the fruit trees, the green grasses, the nightingale, and the glorious peacock?” Like Adam, expelled from paradise all trees are stripped of their robes and crowns
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