Favorite Poems

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Fall has fallen. The leaves are

yellow against the dark blue-

grey sky and the winds have

picked up. The winds that

are still warm and force your

eyes to close in silent reverence

to the sensations on your face

when they brush past; you can

almost hear the music in it, carried

from somewhere far too far away

just to meet you on this day.

 

Where does the wind go, where

does it sleep at night and what

secrets shouted into it does it

carry past our ears?

I am listening, I will always be

listening.

Whisper to me

 

Tyler Knott Gregson

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