Charm
Silver gilded yellow and burnt umber
Falling one by one down to earth
While the Tree prepares for slumber
Forming a blanket about the boles girth
Along barren branches often nattering
To pull an acorn not yet buried
The gray squirrels go chattering
Chasing each other never worried
The crisp cold air promises a freeze
The wan golden rays are hardly warm
Dark heavy snow clouds on the breeze
Suddenly the moment loses all its charm
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