***
A cold October morn,
And branches bending low,
A pine tree withered worn,
In rain frigid as snow.
Dark clouds are now within-
A grey enveloped sky,
This blustery day begins
With melancholy sigh.
The trees in autumn phase
With wind tall grasses roll,
And, yet my heart’s ablaze,
As silence fills my soul.
Peter Lowell Paulson
October 2, 2010
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