So clear the undulating
 waves of the Kline-blue Sky.
Crisp autumn chills with
     crackling wind and chimes
singing softly Chopin’s ballad
     as each dry leaf gracefully takes fall:
to the base
the ground which spurts tulips that soar
gently back into that autumn chime
      and blush in its presence
      of rich browns & still time:

Time that not like an industry ticks
 where autumns cool is protected by heaters
  and summers are dimmed
           by ceilings with halogen lights
and the common is conditioned to none other sights.

So for until seasons keep changing
   Chopin’s ballad rises from within,
 Frost bites will be my braces
 and scars of the soul
will surface my skin.




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