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Fences are Meant to be Crossed

Yellow red leaves falling from almost naked trees,
The tall stems look black, rough, and withered
Dry, brown, sharp blades of wild grass, till knees
There’s a broken fence, of no use, rusting

Birds can no more hide into leaves
an ode from the skylark is a music of hope
echoing softly through the fields
my heart listens to the autumn melodies

I must cross the fence, I wonder often
To see the different landscapes far away
The earth is so precious to store the rotten
Fences divide the land, keep them at bay.

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In response to crimsons-creative-challenge-157/

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