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the Voice of Fall
In a moment, fall begins-
Such we may recall.
And the leaves from silver bare
Dance thru winter's hall.
Still, I search the tattered lines
Of tapestry and thread;
Autumn weaves the Golden lace
Of where the angels tread.
Shall we sing of summer past?
What of spring and bloom?
We, the fabric of the stars-
Of melody and loom-
Stand before a weathered pane
And gaze in idle thought;
What becomes of us, my Dear
And the Gold we sought
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