THE FALL

The leaves all fall, 
But the trees stand tall, 
Blow, wind, blow, 
We won’t go with you.

The air turns brisk, 
In the clouds white midst, 
There brews a storm, 
Though the sun’s still warm.

No matter what the season, 
I always find a reason, 
To love the sun, 
Without which, nothing would be done.

Hot or cold, 
White or gold, 
The sun gives warmth, 
And perpetual hope.

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