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Cinquain
The old
closing the door,
banking the hearth fires,
waiting for the dawns gentle hope,
depart.
With the
twilight violet,
departing the unknown,
strange ashen custom flown,
without.
Autumn,
evanescent
loving embrace awaits,
I remember what could have been,
lost ghost.
Summer,
bright colors reign,
soon flee the winter wind,
set free the sorrow, an ending now
closure.
The wind
noticed now hides,
the moon showing the way
a pewter shallow scan of glow
twilight.
Cinquain
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