Winter is Coming

A poem I wrote about the end of Fall.

The trees look dead,

the leaves have fallen.

The birds are leaving, 

they know what's coming.

The squirrels have grown fat,

they are ready for slumber.

The leaves, yellow, orange, red,

they have lost their luster.

The flowers have gone, 

the beauty is fading.

There is a chill in the air,

that is most certainly noticed.

Winter is coming.

The End

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