Late autumn <br>calls the message of the first outing. The noise of the crowd decorates the sky blue <br>. The joy of the morning is walking on the hair. The <br>sun falls from the window of the car. <br>The wings of the leaves in the arms are also low when the <br>wind wakes up. <br>The stones on the roadside are as drowsy as old people <br>and we are a group of urchins, <br>raising their heads, real children, never weary, <br>colorful declarations, coming in the wind, <br>orange light, pink houses, white windows, <br>lightness, a touch of pure blue, <br>November streets, no words of snowflakes <br>But three people walked in the wind
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