Autumn
I wonder
what the forest feels
when the cold
comes probing its shame?
Its tremulous green
turning
into a
kaleidoscope of blush.
Those
boulevards of rotten veins,
which had once echoed with sunlight,
now spill their
harlequin epitaphs
onto the sky.
what the forest feels
when the cold
comes probing its shame?
Its tremulous green
turning
into a
kaleidoscope of blush.
Those
boulevards of rotten veins,
which had once echoed with sunlight,
now spill their
harlequin epitaphs
onto the sky.
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