Like harp’s strings strongly yet tenderly strummed

Music made along silver threads with fingers and thumb

So warm wind at its trees

Sweeping across sturdy branches, making melodies with crisping leaves

Light records the notes as the shadowy patterns play

Dancing along my window sill and over my bare legs

Tossing here and waving there

Whisking east and falling west

This is autumn

This is autumn at its best

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