Autumns leaves fall as syllables
tones red to gold to brown
short sentence is the time of sleep
trees lie bare of words sleeping in winters grip
blossoms awaiting the touch of sun tight budded wait
for heating in the cauldrons fire of spring
hibernation’s slow deep slumber, natures pause,
till the sap rises in arboreal stems
to flush full of love and light and awakening words.
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