Days and months never take their time.
The four seasons keep bustling each other
away. Cold winds churn lifeless branches.
Fallen leaves cover long paths. We’re frail,
crumbling more with each turning year.
Our temples turn white early, and once
your hair flaunts that bleached streamer,
the road ahead starts closing steadily in.
This house is an inn awaiting travelers,
and I yet another guest leaving. All this
leaving and leaving—where will I ever
end up? My old home’s on South Mountain.
translated by David Hinton
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Leonard Durso 
How are you, my friend ? Now I found you. It’s been years I haven’t posted in WordPress and I’m back , my dear friend.
Glad to ese you. Like your blog.
Like yours as well.
Thank you.
Çok teşekkür ederim.
I many like your beautiful blog. A pleasure to come stroll on your pages. A great discovery and a very interesting blog. I will come back to visit you. A soon.
Thank you. I took a scroll on your blog, too. Your photographs are strikingly lovely. I will return for a lenger visin son.