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As the Seasons slowly Turn
In Wheels of Rhythm Dancing,
Flames of Colours Brightly Burn,
The eye, Ever Entrancing.
From Delicate subtle Auburn,
Progressing Through Burnished Gold,
Crimsons to make the Heart Yearn,
Sables and Russets, Warm and Bold.
Complexity on Leaf and Limb,
Yet Spiraling Time Has not Forgotten,
That Soon the Boughs We’ll Gather and Trim,
Thankful, in Stillness, for All that’s Begotten.

~Morgan~

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