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Autumn
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In the yellowgreen leaves of autumnal reign
A rotting cell takes charge of a verdant vein
Vibrant and vivacious now in decay
The bones of spirit conquer and betray
The crimson edge of a dulled paintbrush
Lay shallow in the airy grave of the sky
The pattering of a starving wood thrush
Searching for that last dragonfly
An errant breeze swallows hope whole
March of death never consoled
Another falls unceremoniously to the wild
And the mothertree loses another child.