Post No. 920
Change
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The wind rips the leaves to blanket the lawn
While we mourn the passing of summer;
Autumn air, still warm, brushes our skin
In this land of harsh contradictions
Where colours vie for recognition
And winter stands poised on the edge of the precipice,
Hesitant to leap into the abyss.
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Copyright: Denise Allen 17.05.2016 06:44
