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Curvy farm track leads home into the setting sun, Westward traveling when a hard days work is done, Summer gone, the path no longer dusty and bone dry, Harvest collected, stored safely wheat, oats and rye. Leaves have turned golden; orange, browns and red, Trees are stark naked their foliage shed, This most beautiful season adorns evening skies a glow, Homeward journey to enjoy all that nature has to bestow. — Philip Wood |