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Fall and Autumn Poem

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the trees are turning red and orange

on their own

without my help, except

to notice,

but that's why we are here,

to notice,

to say that flower is pretty, God

but that one over there

is plain.

The trees are red

and yellow,

red

and yellow

and green against a sky

                                                of blue                                                     

Copyright © 1998 by David Michael Jackson, All rights reserved



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