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Written by: Richard Wilbur | Biography
| Poems
 | Quotes |
 Piecemeal the summer dies;
At the field's edge a daisy lives alone;
A last shawl of burning lies
On a gray field-stone.
All cries are thin and terse; The field has droned the summer's final mass; A cricket like a dwindled hearse Crawls from the dry grass.

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