Fall
Dying leaves twirling and falling to the ground,Their rustling and crackling compose the only sound.
Surrounded by this forest in solitude I walk,
And listen as the wind blows and the trees begin to talk.
They speak to me of the winter that still lies ahead,
When their branches will be empty and they'll stand ugly and dead.
They speak to me of the coldness found only in the dead of night,
When the animals all hide in fear and wait for the morning light.
They speak to me of the deadly, frozen beauty that will soon cover their trunks,
And they dream of Spring's warmth melting it in great hunks.
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