Autumn Dance.

The skeletons of summer
sway gently in the morning breeze,
scything through the mist.
Sparse, dark beauty, seen in death,
is spotlit by the morning sun.
Their time has come and gone
but they still have their pride,
as they hold out their branches
in a final funereal dance.
Reluctant to take their leave,
they stand tall, heads high,
celebrating the sweet, pulsating softness,
which once flowed freely,
through their wizened stems.

Life has been carried forward.
Their work is done.



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