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It is fall again.

Stags rutt in sunkissed fields,
does watch as betting onlookers.
Antlers shed on yellow blades.

Goldenrod sprouts from the earth,
as an arrow does a wound.
Fields of sunflowers dangle in the wind,
like long pinwheels.

The steel skies blanket the earth,
in tearful bullets.
A frog takes shelter underneath a lily pad.
Mallads shelter themselves,
beneath flowering dogwoods.

Apple’s grove’s leaves fall to the ground in a world wind blur.
Their red fruits fall to the ground,
with no one to pick them.

Lake water reflects bygone,
tattered reflections.
Geese flock in V patterns,
their feathers hit the water.

Fungus festers on dead, rotten things;
their mycelium stretches far,
like dirt paved country roads.

A tree falls in a forest,
with no one to hear.
The festering comes
for its corpse.

Everything dies, but in that,
new things can live.
What remains of a memory,
when it fades?
Memories of a memory.

As the last leaf falls,
the world sleeps.

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