The autumn's bittersweet for sure, and cold
But capable of so much more:
There is such beauty in decay,
Within the many colours of a leaf
As it nears death and falls away.

It is a grey time, autumn, and a time of death;
Of langour, and a time of fading breath--
But in that dying breath Life's all the more alive,
All the more brimming in the face of that inevitable knife.

And even Love can never be so deep,
As when it's tinged with sorrow, loss, and grief.
Nor can the red and golden leaves shine quite so bright
As when they're contrasted against a grey and fading sky.

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