Best Frocked Poems

Rooted on a moss-banked hill,
its branches spread far and wide.
By Summer's end, leaves veined gold and crimson.
Then, Autumn’s hand brushed them with russet paint.
Twas the time of year the elm tree despised.
Wind ruffled in their last days,
leaves danced as if burning flames,
until gales sent them...

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John was losing his mind for Mary
Near her house he often did tarry.
But she knew him not
Gave him no thought.
Now he has fled to a monastery....

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