Autumn is one of the most beautiful times of the year when the trees dance in fiery skins of leaves and the paths get adorned with the hues of orange and red. On one side where it is a treat in beauty for our eyes, it is a subtle reminder of transience of everything around us.

At the enchanting hour of dying sun,
Came a soft susurration of scarlet leaves’ hum,
Bound with the melodious chords of an autumn breeze,
Carrying the whispers of warm winter fires yet to come.

Bowing to the crowns of earthly deities it goes
Summoning the fallen, yet arisen leaves in the whirlpools of its mysterious fear,
A lore among the millions, it revolutes to recite,
Sowing the seeds of mourn and gloom to the dying year.

The looming scarlets and the quiteous whisper seem not but the warriors,
Mounting the hills of its unheard past,
As the breeze remarks the ensemble of the green lives,
And how they now senile at last.



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