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Autumn

Autumn blows in like a messy, cloud.
In the rains of autumn,
The air is frosty fresh and tastes of honey.


The tree dies like a rainy sail.
Inside our imagination, the trees cry colorful tears.
Winter leaves begin their journey's end.

A carpet of many colors lying flat,
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Thursday, July 24, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: seasons
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7/29/2021 6:34:59 AM # 1.0.0.666