Echoes of the Autumn cycle
Fall into a fraying wallet
Remnants of a slow life
Perched on the end of a branch
The green grass becomes brown
Used and old, stained outside
Drenched from the falling water
Trampled by the feet of the living
The puddles fill with murky water
Grey and black, floating enzymes
Random bubbles of air escaping
Just to pop, if they breech the surface
Yet all is not as bleak as it seems
As the sun, visiting vision, reminds us
Peeking from the cardboard clouds
It warms our spirits with spring hope
It pulls away the dirt, evaporates grime
The grass reclaims it's emerald glory
It rebuilds the undecorated trees of old
And begins a brand new, nature-story.
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