A morning breeze leaves soft whispers
in trees, remnants of passed storms
and a morning murmur shared
as if to know soon grown bare,
will whisper far less as winds grow cold
Into the time of air and soft sounds
the busy backdrop of swirled thoughts
how we can touch like leaf and wind
when life is the shell gone to die
and yet the dreams it has always held
still play in the spirit
autumn when nature finds homes for seed
when life sweetens for its last; autumn,
when the world find a warm place
to curl in wait for spring...
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