As  summer succumbs to winters iron will

leaves with papery hands crumble to dust

and snow curls around the hills

as trees turn from red to rust

and birds whose song once pierced the sky

are now just a whispered lullaby

as smoke escapes like a ghost

from bright braziers where blackened chestnuts roast

and trees vulnerable and exposed

stand awkwardly without their summer clothes

whilst the cold creeps through this naked land

ending  summers song with an unseen hand

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