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Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Fabled Dawn

A slow drive unhurried,
Deliberate and lingering,
Smelling the proverbial rose,
Or here, the leaves, dwindling.
 
Spirited yellows, the ripe leaves,
Bright reds enveloping the way,
Few greens peeking from within,
As dried browns, rustle away.
 
Washed over by a elusive calm,
Mornings like today are scarce,
Soft melodies waft by, gently.
And, in the moment, I immerse.
 

1 comment:

Thank you for reading; and thank you in advance for the feedback