Stray birds of summer come to my
   window to sing and fly away.
 And yellow leaves of autumn, which
   have no songs, flutter and fall
   there with a sigh.

I was reminded of this poem when I recently read Keats ‘To Autumn’ on minstrels:

In this season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, when night comes early and remains long, this poem reminds me of summer days which fly away all too soon. It also made me realise that while there is beauty in fall colors and a certain poignancy in falling leaves, there’s little music in them.

Tagore through and through, simple and beautiful.

— Sarah Korah