My parents always liked,
Driving north to the woods in autumn months,
While they were both alive,
The colors of the leaves were the reason,
They were just magical,
An array of shades that must have linked them,
A visit to a place, ethereal.
They probably would get out of the car,
Then hold hands and just look,
Foray down a trail, eyes everywhere,
Just them, I was ne'er took.
Now it's just him,
I think, chilled by the air,
E'en if I drive him to their exact spot,
I know that I can never take him there.
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