Worth: by Eric Inglis.

Orange, red, and yellow leaves

rustle and bustle across the this lot

flying through the air

as well as bouncing on the pavement

Somehow finding their way to you

standing like a statue of golden sheets

with the underneath a cheapish ore

in the cold and lifeless autumn eve

Yet I can't help but stare 

at your deceiving looks of worth

being hit by the suns last rays 

giving you more glory then you deserve


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