the air is crisp. The leaves turn amber auburn and gold.
the season changes from summer's warmth to winter's cold
squirrels frolick about, storing stock in their hold
as I watch in amazement, as time unfolds.
the birds sing a merry note, a song that nature itself wrote.
tellings tales of a thousand years, 10000 thousand times it has been told.
the breeze is alive with a fragrant wood, and carries its burning scent
as festive times are about to come
bringing joy and bliss wholesome.
and in this merriment I rejoice and rebound from my sad descent.
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