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In October...

In October, the sun doesn't stare,
regards with a glance, not a glare
and the trees between verdant and bare,
their most flagrant livery dare,
while we just redouble our care,
fret over our bleak winter fare,
neglecting our festival share,
hoarding up more common ware
when autumnal joy is so rare.

henrymitchellbooks.com

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