A seasonal poem

Picture of hillsideThe Sunset is burning
the woodlands of green
Tinting young  roses
A red apple sheen
 
The wind it is blowing
and swaying a cloud
Rippling the soft  air
Till branches are bowed
 
The yellow brimming
Of daffodils clear
watching a young moon
In  blue ink steer
 
The warm light fades
Grassland and ditch
The sunset is burning
A  land in nature so rich
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