Air, a precise note
Tip of the spear.
Crinkling from below
Sun, brilliant. obscured in the over
and undergrowth’s mingling.
A gift near the sunset
at the edge of the year
Shivers of our content
In the gentle bursts of breeze
and the rustling of our soul.
Panorama
of death’s plumage
On display.
Shadows as giants
In the yellow-orange majesty
of soon-to-be gone.
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