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Autumn.
Golden trees line the curving river A river we used to walk, hand in hand. We told each other secrets and kissed through falling leaves. Young, we walked through miles along soft earthen paths. Now, just a yearly memory on the banks that haunt me. The musty odor of leaves perfumes the air with Fall. A lazy cloud lazily drifts from a burning heap like the old dreams that are gone as wisps of smoke. they were a sweet smell in my mind. Today, the path is empty, colors are dull, wind is cold.
~Dave~
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