Rainer Maria Rilke. (№ 380635)

Your hour, September, and fly to wither.
Check in on a sundial shadow
On the field, all the winds allow.
Let it be a juice Apple full,
Two more southern days to find you can
The fruits to Mature and lay
The last sugar in the wines.
Someone without housing not building house now.
Whoever is alone without a friend remains,
Not sleep and over the lengthy letter beats
And wanders in the reflection on the pond
In the Park, where, glowing, leaf sweeps.