so still the rising morning

as I gaze into the glorious green;

an orb of warmth climbs the horizon,

a day unfolding in its own shapeless way.

the whisper of autumn is in the wind;

it speaks of bright colour.

by noon the world will hum

into shades of flame

and by dusk

all will be baked brown.

leaves will tumble to the earth 

and decay;

senseless to the white water 

that weighs upon them

until morning springs.

an endless cycle 

of growth, decline and fall.

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