Picture by:Robert Zunicoff @unsplash.com
In the age of ripe September
Third quarter of the year
Giving birth to autumn’s fall
Letting long roads disappear
The summer cycle drifting onward
New beginnings in the air
Though now the bright is just a beam
Where all is left cannot compare
Walking through to winter’s doorway
In hope our harvest see’s us through
On a carpet pressed with golden leaves
Singing winter songs ice blue
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