I love when the air brings that crispy chill.
The longer the shadows, the sharper the thrill.
I love getting cold just so I can warm up,
and everything's like a bounty running over my cup.
Rounding dark corners to lose my way,
but I feel so at home its impossible to stray.
My time's surely waning, but my strength seems to grow.
Its one of life's cyclic secrets that somehow I know
Vivid colors, rich flavors, my senses are great.
All the harvests beginning to culminate.
The sun hits her hair in a shade of gold,
watching her change with seasons is worth growing old.
The deeper we sleep I do not want to let go.
It's not death or renewal, but blissful limbo.
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