Wind disturbs the leaves
yet it is not the trees who
search for a reprieve.
From the kitchen door,
I catch pairs of tiny eyes
peeking through the pane.
Roses in autumn
remind trees who lost their green
the beauty of red.
I most enjoy walks
through these warm, grassy fields
carrying my shoes.
The syrup drips down
the sides of her tender wrists
as she lifts her fork.
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