Autumn's soft kiss is plying
The rounded, flushed cheek of summer,
With tiny kisses
Layered across Summer's face
Like a trail of freckles across
A young girls nose.
Autumn blows gently
In whispered secrets
Quietly told in a tidy cupped ear.
Summer smiles and laughs,
Running across a field,
Hair streaming behind
In a glorious cascade of many colors.
At this moment, Summer is in the lead,
But it is a foregone conclusion
That Autumn will win the footrace.
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