I recently took a creative writing class, which I loved. Here's a little tidbit from my poetry Unit.
A Season’s Transitory
Like a scaffold,
it stands
scarred and worn by years of wind
of weather swaying its limbs
covered by its innocent victims
green scattered branch to branch
they hang
until they fade, fall, and die
brilliant leaves
now fallen, swirling in the autumn wind
a remnant of a season put to rest
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