Description
A barn with a rusted crown of red,
Stands quiet where the golden grasses spread.
Its timbers whisper tales of years gone by,
Beneath the stretch of an open sky.
A ribbon of water winds and weaves,
Through painted hills and fallen leaves.
It sings to stones in a silver thread,
As autumn blushes in gold and red.
Mountains rise like ancient guards,
Watching over fields and weathered yards.
A lonely tree with branches bare,
Waves to the wind in the crisp, clean air.
The fence leans on in crooked grace,
Holding time in its quiet place.
And all around, the colors flame—
A world on fire, without a name.
So hush now, heart, and let it be,
This fleeting breath of memory.
Where nature paints and silence grows,
And peace is found where the cold stream flows.
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