Missing the colors I place them everywhere.
Trying to find the leaves of yellow, orange,
Red tipped dying into flame, brilliance.
All held in the gently breeze, blowing
Down what is dying and so awesome
In beauty.
It lays there on the ground.
Midst the cool crispness of the day.
Biting and reminding the wonder
Will soon turn cold and white.
It is a cycle, a time, a season.
And it's longing to live and die
In wonder.
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