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Love Season
October 12, 2018
Autumn, out of time…
My calendar is shifted…
Not for a cold day.
It’s a chilled season;
Love has no place in fall leaves,
So, the brow furrows.
Je convoite à toi,
Un amour été, hiver.
L’amour est morte.
© Richard F., League City, TX
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The season of love is a fickle thing.