I don’t like to admit it, but
It is definitely autumn,
Cold air blowing through
Causing me to creak,
Like and old building in the wind.
I am not yet dilapidated,
Though the shingles on my roof
Have gotten thin
And sometimes I need some shoring up
To help carry the load.
The structure is still fairly sound,
Though over the years
The weather has taken its toll.
I am still here,
Still finding my skin reasonably habitable,
Still creaking along.
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