Upon the season was fallen, a billion trees with different types of color and style within, when the beauty who sits on the modern bench alone, the wind came through lightly and snuggled, It will land on her in piles and layers thick and slick, she loves to kick her feet up toward, that's her bed, after all, she sleeps under her blanket of leaves everywhere, how passion she truly was, It's called Autumn of love
Written by
Michael James Brindley
9-22-17
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