pushed by the wind
floats around me
chilling my senses
as the rain gently
hits the ground in
soft beads of sound;
rhythm is not lost
when the skies
decide to cry and
nature receives the
nourishment it so
involuntarily desires
before decapitation
by the master of the
land whose task it
is to cut back for
a winter's rest and
needed rejuvenation.
17 September 2020
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