Fall (season) in all its glory,
humming the past summer story.
Orange leaves, mud-laden roads,
the smell of spiced pumpkin soup
but the trees age,
withered and hoary.
Always so bewitching,
to see the changing shades of nature.
Migrating birds, hibernating animals,
jaded eyes, weary demeanor;
all seemingly caught
in the act of caricature.
The land will be shrouded soon
by a white serape.
The trees sore,
yearn and mourn;
a veil of leaves
will cover their bark no more.
The last glimpse of tan,
the last song of harvest,
the last luncheon under the sun,
before the grey skies settle again,
the colours fade away and the monochromes reign.
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