November 4, 2008
The whispering wind feels like a frosted breath.
Withering flowers will soon rest in death.
Trees stand full with their leaves.
But soon they will be stolen from winter’s thieves.

The wind and my breath is all I hear.
It is Autumn now, but winter is near.
Chills run down my spine.
If only I could call this creation mine.

Green grass stretches along the ground.
I can feel the rhythm of my heart pound.
Creating lyrics of its own,
I hear the wind beginning to moan.

Walking slowly, wanting this to last forever.
Soon, it will be the beginning of December.
Snow will linger in the skies,
All of winter will surly arise

One last look, one last glance.
This could be our last chance.
To look at autumn’s beauty,
Before comes the winters cruelty.

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