Do not sweep the fallen leaves left behind,

All the rust, crimson, and gold on the ground.

As the world is quiet in the clear night sky,

Here, I hear them make all their pleasing sounds.

I’ve heard in the sighs of the wind the sighs

All day through the rustling of all the leaves.

I’ve seen in the shadows of the moonlight

The shadows of leaves like lips fluttering.

They are but under-heaven travelers.

Here, they have found what they are seeking—

Tirelessly, to wake a fellow traveler,

They stand at the paper windows knocking.

They float on and float on, lost in the air,

To drop down with a soft sound on the land,

Where underneath them hide the moss-starred stairs.

And the sight of the raindrops drumming on them,

Cold and wet, I see on earth sadness here.

Keep it natural, deep in the mountain.

These very leaves are worn and must wither.

Do not sweep the fallen. Please sweep around them.