Can you translate it?
A pair of workmen's boots, over a hundred years old or I should say, "They have seen a season or two."
Autumn colors in Provence
with an olive tree.
Floating on a leaf the fairy sat,
a butterfly became the sails,
balancing behind her a walnut shell for a bed.
Under the red tile roof the firewood awaits. The chimney smoke will swirl amongst the church bells, like incenses do during mass.
Olive trees heavy laden, liquid sunshine for every meal.
The fountains long for the underground sources to be filled, rain please come.
The silence is haunting, Autumn begs to bring change.