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poem

Misty, Windy, Gloomy

Misty, windy, gloomy autumn
has arrived. The outdoor palette
has witched over from green to reds,
browns, and ephemeral oranges.

When the sky darkens and the sun
goes down, I wonder if this is
the last time I’ll see daylight, if
the world will founder in the night
and take us all down with it, like
a doomed Titanic, like Pompeii
daring its friend Vesuvius.

But they are only rogue children
at the door, disguised and eager,
satisfied for the instant by
another candy bar, a spare,
clinking coin in the dragon hoard.

WIP ~ 8th Draft
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