soon the leaves will

have fallen

from the castanian tree;

once again

i will see all the birds

who come

to look for the fruit

summer has left

behind

for winter

and her guests;

and what will winter be

this year,

howling down the sidewalks,

over the river,

sleet and snow,

or something far more

gentle;

for now the last of the bees

have come to the apple

i left them

on the balcony,

some fly in

but go out again,

not to die in here,

but led out there

by the gift.

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