A poem


They say it is the month of death,
But I have never seen such beauty in decay.

Remains of Autumn,
Still smoldering,
Cling to the branches,
And the earth is painted a thousand shades of red.

When a heavy fog smothers the ground,
Breathe in and let it fill your lungs.

It is at this time the world seems still
And the fear of winter is forgotten,

If only for a moment,

Before the light fades,
And we return to darkness once more.”

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