Where two fences meet at the corner
the leaves gather, blown there by
the autumn winds
swirling them across the yard and
down the pathway
through my garden, gone now, too, in
the changing
of the season, summer into fall,
the leaves gathering
to face the transformation
together, green gone to gold
and red and orange, as we all must in
the waning seasons
of our own years, where two fences meet at the corner.
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