The last door left open
slams shut in a chilling breeze.
Thermometer's not broken,
but it has given up a few degrees.
Nature's alarm bells have rung
to signal oncoming decay.
No more the plantings are sprung -
they're gone, dormant, out of the way.
The first crisp on the grass,
just a dash of a much stronger brew -
not soon will adversity pass,
just hold on - a warm fire must do.
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