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It is mid August
And the leaves on the tree outside my window have begun to turn brown.
Fall is coming, and once again the smell in the air is almost wistful.
Crops will grow and then mature,
Pumpkins will fill out,
And heavy heads of corn will sway in their husks under the autumn sun.
The leaves will turn from sapphires to rubies and be more beautiful than ever before.
There will be feasts, and parties, and gatherings full of laughter and food.
And then the first leaf will fall.
Little by little the leaves always die,
The corn stalks grow brittle and yellow in their emptiness,’
And the sun abandons us for what lies beyond the horizon.
I used to play in in the leaves when I was a child,
raking them up into graveyard piles and then scattering them as I jumped in.
As time continues and the cycle of growth and decay goes on
sometimes I wonder when I will lie among them once more,
When I will fall like they have
And our bodies will rot,
Melding together into dirt beneath the winter’s first blanket of snow.