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Nature is Dead
It’s mid-October; nature is dead.
Trees shiver from bitter wind
since leaves lay beneath my feet
crinkling to a rhythm.
It’s mid-October; nature is dead.
Flowers and weeds are lifeless.
Branches are scattered about,
breathless on the ground.
It’s mid-October; nature is dead.
Every animal is gone, hiding
from nature. It’s unbearable
nature departed.
Like nature, the tennis season expired.
Mid-October, go away.

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