October 13, 2011
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Leaves swirling
Toes curling
In the cold
Summer gold
Rusted now
No why or how
Hours fill
With things I do not will
Laughter gone
Just like the flowers done
I long for days free of care
Missing you I cannot bear
Leaves crunch beneath my shoes
Skeloton trees in line waiting for their cues
A lonely snow flake falls
faintly winter calls
“Not yet” I plead
Panic growing like a weed
Please and I’ll never
Ask for another
Bring back that summer

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