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In the twilight of life, when the sun weeps its rays on the reddened sky of memories,
I feel how autumn weaves its golden and rusty web over the garden of my weary soul,
Each falling leaf is a lost second from the hourglass of our ephemeral existence,
And the wind whispers elegies for the time that slips through the trembling fingers of the present.
Oh, how the shadows of melancholy dance on the paths adorned with dried leaves of my consciousness!
Each new autumn is an open gate to the realm of forgetfulness, a window to the unknown infinity,
And I wonder, as I watch the heavy clouds of passage gather above my head bowed with thoughts,
How many more autumns do I have to taste, how many symphonies of rustling leaves will I hear in this fleeting life?
Spring and summer, those twin sisters of illusion, envelop us in their green mantle of hope and vitality,
Make us believe we are immortal, that time is an infinite resource flowing through our sap-filled veins,
But autumn, ah, wise autumn, whispers the harsh truth of the cyclical nature of existence,
With each ripe fruit that falls to the ground, with each bird that takes flight to unknown horizons.
I feel how each new autumn is a mirror of my aging soul, reflecting the wrinkles of time,
Each golden leaf is a page from the book of my life, carried by the wind to the library of eternity,
And I wonder, as I walk through the corridors of memory wallpapered with multicolored recollections,
How many chapters do I have left to write, how many autumns do I have left to paint on the infinite canvas of the universe?
I listen to how the raindrops sing the requiem of summer on the roof of my fragile hopes,
And feel how the roots of my being deepen into the cold soil of unyielding reality,
Each autumn is a memento mori whispered by wise nature into the ear of my trembling soul,
A gentle reminder that we are but ephemeral actors on the grand stage of the boundless cosmos.
And yet, in this golden melancholy, in this waltz of falling leaves and shattered dreams,
I find a heartbreaking beauty, a poetry of passing that fills my heart with a sweet sadness,
For each lived autumn is a precious gift, a rare jewel in the necklace of our existence,
An invitation to contemplation, to savor each moment as if it were the last in eternity.
So I let my thoughts fly free like leaves carried by the wind in this autumn of life,
Embrace melancholy as an old friend who whispers secrets about the beauty of the ephemeral,
And as the sun sets once more over the rusted garden of my numbered days,
I promise myself to live each autumn with the intensity of a whole life condensed into a single golden leaf.
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