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autumn poetry

the poets tell
green afternoon serene and bright
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
do not grieve that it is over
leave the lovely words unsaid
in halls of sleep you wandered by
risen from the dead
i have to say good-night
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
have you not heard
i saw the clouds among the hills
who loves the rain
why then, must we see?

 



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