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17/05/2016 by adeeyoyo 4 Comments

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