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A single crystal teardrop.
 
Sitting on a moss tinged bench that looked out on the riverís flow
Immersed within the Autumnís song, a prisoner of itís holy glow,
Through overhanging branches she was painted in her peace
As she stood and stretched up to the air, a flowering release,
The cinder path meandered through a shadow skimmed sojourn
As everywhere upon the air, the seasons start to turn,
Those ethereal enigmas, spectres of the faceless sun
That ignite the burning river with the patterns they have spun.


Then she strolled along the cinder path, absorbed within a day
That picked her up and carried her so softly far away,
Past rippled flickering remains of liquid lassitude
And through the arches of the shade, where no light dares intrude,
As ghost white swans flowed through her eyes like spirits of the mist
She felt like time was sleeping, and not wrapped around her wrist,
There were round the corner whispers wrapped in waving willow sighs
And she listened to their secrets with a sense of silk surprise.


The swifts screamed ever joyful while they fluttered overhead
As they set off on their travels, with the Summer almost dead,
And she looked up with regret, and with a final soft goodbye
As a single crystal teardrop left the corner of her eye,
For she felt the pages turning to the Autumnís russet wine
Another script, another verse of natural design,
But still her smile was carried to a distant breathing shore
When snow dreams fade, and flowers wave to greet the sun once moreÖ

By 33whitby4654

© 2019 33whitby4654 (All rights reserved)

 

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