the leaves are burning, burning yellow.
sleeping at a constant smolder
spreading when the sun wakes
and like the curl that frames her face
one turns round and round upon itself
a swift waltz on the breeze of damp earth
the taste of the coming change fresh on her lips
sending shivers down her spine
a whisper of winter winds echoing through the embers
the late sky stretches out across the valley
the perfect shade of blue
meeting the brown horizon
and everything green
burns.
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