Acorns slowly fall
to frosty ground,
Still alive and green
for now, and
randomly spread out
by winds and rain,
the colors changing fast,
bring brilliant painted trees
that swing and sway,
and silhouette
against the blustery sky,
and prophesize,
that soon will come
cold nights and dawns,
and bring along
an icy blanket white and pure,
a time,
to slow, to sleep, to wait
and change the scene
to that
which nature must accept,
but cares not why or how,
but sure,
like what has come before,
is not the final end,
but just a need to cleanse,
and take a rest from nature’s
timeless task,
and plant the seeds
in nature’s realm,
for life to start again
and orchestrate
the master’s plan.
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