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In the whispering of the shadows,
Crying tears of liquid gold,
Is the essence of Autumn's melancholy,
Who wanders forever down the trodden path,
Finding only phantom memories of the past.
Those in the world of rainbows
Do not understand the harvest of sadness
Reaped in her barren soul,
Where her roots are ripped from the dampened soil,
Then covered in frost of reminiscent winter snows.
Her spirit falls, like the fluttering leaves,
Down to the earth of windswept sienna,
While bronzed oaks of majesty crumble to dust
And entomb her silent sorrow in foliage of copper
With the blinding white of daylight: blanket of hushed zephyr.
Eternal sleep, until flowers melt the arctic winds,
And the flames of the heavens burn the trees immortal--
To awaken the heart, austere equinox:
Guardian burdened of the earthen season,
Sovereign of the voiceless, bereaving amber skies.
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