The chill of the north.
Comes into this life.
Fading flowers tell of its coming.
Birds migrate to the south.
Warm clothing shrouds us.
Down cast eyes avoid its way.
So the fall chill comes.
Winter with bitterness follows.
Onward though we must travel.
Only to wallow in its mire.
Our hope is of a new spring.
Though the fall is our reality.
All seems to retreat into hiding.
Falling away from a now empty tiime.
Some though wait for the cold.
May each traveler find there path.

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