Autumn’s Rapport

The season everyone seems to adore

Is left dead in a comparison war.

For when leaves begin to fall

No one can tally the total all

Detrimental succession

Of my overall impression

Of your rapport.

Nothing in Autumn comes as green

As your smiling scene.

For when leaves begin to fall

Short days make time stall

And it’s never my desire

With you to retire

Because that would be obscene.

(Unless, of course, I can implore

Another usual Sunday tour).

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