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Replying to a comment on:
No More Autumn Poems (Edit) (Other) by Sasha Now that thereâs sweeping on the grass
and leaves lie dumped beside the roads,
the shaken, cold and unclad trees
can have no need of Autumn Odes.
What voice could sing in joy of death
to those who cyclically die?
More leaves are reddening the ground.
Branches are limp and dry
So, seeing leaves let down from boughs
like petals from a twisted stem,
I sing no more than needed for
a requiem.
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