November 26, 2007
The flame of autumn burns the clouds,
This deep sensation that brightly shrouds.
Nature’s death for all that lives,
A bright new season,
A time to give.
So scatter the ashes and wither the rose,
Kisses in the mist where the cold wind blows.
Crimson lust whispers on the breeze of night,
I’ve tasted the warmth of its sad lonely bite.
Flowing secrets of orange,
And gold,
This mastery of art,
Its passion so bold.
Another passing of the months to some,
But to me there’s beauty in this autumn

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