Sad Season

Sad Season

Gusts of wind in my face,

Tears of rain on my hair,

Mist lingers on the river,

Wood-smoke hangs in the air,

A bitter-sweet season

That smells of despair.

I sit by the riverbank

Where the trees turn to rust,

Through tangles of grass

Bony weeds thrust:

Seasonal refugees,

Gold turns to dust.

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