Leaves begin to die,
Turn bronze, crimson and gold,
Once on the tree then crumpled and trodden on flat to the earth.
From tree to ashes.
From tree to dust.
The beauty and passion which their colours and shapes conjure in our minds are vivid and ever present.
The golds of Crowned Glory and the blood reds of fresh slaughter are a reminder of our flaws and our weakness.
Though this glorious and beautiful death doesn't last,
It's only temporal,
The everlasting Risen Life will soon be on its way,
With most Graceful Power and Eternal Strength!
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