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So let the messenger come down, To wrestle with the elder son, Who fasts so that his kin may feast, On crops that rise from fertile ground.   So let the messenger come by,
Tiny dancer, fastened to her tree High above; the earth below. Poised, ready: autumn prompts Costumed, she tiptoes close... - She's dressed in nature's finest, Coverings so delicate, ever-changing
  This New Earth The summer harvest Has been reaped To feed our souls. The last bounty gone To the dust of leaves, Clinging to the mother branch
And silver are the roses Guarding heavens golden gate,​ Behind which looms a shadow,​ The shadow of eternal fate.​ A luminous, glowing sphere rises to the stars,​
The full moon, the dark sky. It never leaves my mind. It guides me all the way, through the twists and turns. You burn a mild orange now and again like that of the autumn color leaves.
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