Monday, 15 October 2012


As the leaves they turn from green to brown,
And the air starts to feel colder,
As the sun’s great warmth begins to wane,
And the world gets a little older,
As the nights close in and darkness descends,
And we light our fires to smoulder,
It’s autumn’s a slow death to the cold of winter,
And winter’s the sleeping coma.

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