The whisper of the wind,
Rustling through trees,
Falling orange and gold,
Dancing, colorful leaves.
A chilly, swirling breeze,
Wrapped snug with coat and scarf,
Sipping Grandma's hot apple cider,
Safe before the crackling hearth.
Swinging in the tire,
Tied to the old oak tree,
Pumping legs higher,
And flying with glee.
Landing with a swoosh,
Orange, red, and gold flying in the air,
Rolling in the leaf pile,
Forgetting every worry and care.
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