Trio of Fall Tercets
Apple spice winds fanning the flames
of campfire stories engorged with horror;
Fevered is the air filled with such games.
Drifting away on falling leaves
crackling colors paint the ground;
Art so poignant no one grieves.
Words cover me with a slow crawl
ageless fear explodes on my skin;
I am now left in awe falling for it all.
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