The Footpath

A quiet morning
Cool and crisp
The dabbled light
Rained down like mist

The walking path
Not long ago
Devoid of color
Before this show

As if on queue
Fall colors came
It looks so different
Its not the same

Just weeks ago
Brown dried out weeds
But this late fall
A different breed

I almost quit
Without a fuss
But then it came
The color rust

What seems so late
Is now in time
The longer the wait
The better the wine

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