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Poem	the weighing is done in autumn and the sifting what is to be threshed is threshed in autumn what is to be gathered is taken the wind does not die in autumn the moon shifts endlessly thru flying clouds in autumn the sea is high & a golden light plays everywhere making it harder to go one's way. all leavetaking is in autumn where there is leavetaking it is always autumn & the sun is a crystal ball on a golden stand & the wind cannont make the spruce scream loud enough
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