Winds at dawn, dewdrops
lay shivering on blades of
green grass; windows rattle,
leaves slide across the
veranda floor; cluttered skies,
ice crystals’ a wonderland
upon the rocky shore.
A rising sun its radiance spreads,
flowers of summer are dead; the
field of Poppies’ only remembered
as a waving sea of red.
The garden filled with fall fare, blossom
seeds tilled into the ground; spread
beyond the garden gates a bounty of
squash, gourds and pumpkins abound.
The land cringes with the thoughts of
ice and snow that will soon be here; but
first it must wait patiently for the golden
autumn to disappear.
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