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In Two Months

Autumn, all the misty grey fog
The falling leaves making the ground a bog
The trees all merging from lush to bare
The damp smell of cold rain in the air
The eerie feeling of being all alone
The rushing wind has a mournful tone


Not too cold, nowhere near hot
The sun is always being sought
The fun of standing outside to stare
The beauty deserves a loud fanfare
The graveyard looks especially cool
The decrepit old headstones make me want to drool

The rest of the seasons are okay too
My friends and I always argue
Spring is full of abundant plants
Summer makes people want to dance
Winter seems to be rather dull
Completely empty where Autumn is at least half-full.




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