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Picture Credits:
O'morning, O'morning, the scent of fall coming on,
Once vibrant blades of grass, sullen and darken,
October mornin' won't be long.
Thy leaves of crimson orange, will ripen to the fall,
Brisk wind shall soon cast their gale,
Scattering them all.
As the faint light of day lingers,
Only to grow much less brief.
The warm winds of summer,
Slowly give in to defeat.
The shadows gradually move more deeply in,
A changing of the guard;
And the circle of the seasons,
Proclaimed by unyielding wind.
Maybe a feeling, or perception,
Least I would never swear.
Tis only He who knows of its coming,
As surely as the breath of life in me'
Thus lingering, Fall in the air.
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