Last day of summer--
Dead leaves have taken over;
Gray winter's calling.
A wind shakes tree limbs;
More leaves floating through the air.
Where is the sunshine?
Crows are commenting;
They're babbling back and forth
On this gray wet day.
Beyond the bushes
A rooster crows out of sight;
Just his sounds remains.
He did not make it
Racing across the small road--
To eternity.
Stream has an arbor--
Green leaves above the ripples;
Sound and sight combine.
Mirrors on the road
Dark, tiny pools of water
Reflecting the trees.
Eternal bouquet
Grows from the iron railing;
Always flourishing.
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