every year around a certain timeall things come to terms with
the seasonal death that each of us
know of our selves,
once pink now red
once ravishing, now ravished
fortunately the melancholy
induced from this
is not the worst
of your feelings
post modern verse
Certain period each year
All things come to terms with
Death of the season that each of us
Know our own
Red, pink once again
Once again lovely, charming
Fortunately depression
Derived from this
The worst is not
Your feelings
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