Fall's Approach
Soft are the puffing chimneys,
Sad is the willow which weeps its mournful tale,
Quiet is the golden meadow, soft hay a whispered breeze,
As Fall is fast approaching.
Ghosts come soaring in brisk nights as howls through the air,
But make an ethereal farewell ‘pon sanctuary’s rise.
A rise it is- such brilliant light- to conquer and behold,
The mysteries untold of in his final warm embrace.
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