Sunday, November 1, 2015

Fickle Fall

Jim Rapp

Golden glory, hills ablaze,
Skies of azure full amaze,
Leaves to shuffle, rake and burn,
Wieners, smores, each in their turn,
Blustery winds that rain and snow,
Stripping glory as they go,
Leaving barrenness and chill,
Writing WINTER with their quill.

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