Stuff (an Autumn poem)

The crisp wind’s kisses bless my cheeks,
the golden leaves begin their dance.
A woollen jumper worn for weeks,
a cup of tea at any chance.

The crinkling, crunching leaves in piles,
and walking through the longer dark.
A bonfire we can see for miles,
and Halloween to make its mark.

My breath takes form before my eyes,
an inner dragon starts to wake.
Autumnal clouds in leaden skies,
this season’s gifts are ours to take.

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