Not a whisper, nor a word,
Just one day in the fall
A brief moment in time,
where that moment, interred,
is now kept, as my own
in a frame on the wall.
Stirring my soul,
in soft shades of charcoal,
that can't fade, or be dulled,
With devotion, ....it is mine, to recall
Black arches and veins,
mottled pallets of gray,
from the trees overhead
in...
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