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Suns scatter, crash in blazes
The west in blackness sinks
The moons streak and warp
Entire nights pass in two eyeblinks

The seasons race, rush, are done
In cycling storms
Look out the window
The robins are gone

Forsythia glows
Fuschian coryphées
Their buskins are gangrene
Autumn...niveal greys...

And the skull pondered
Opens its jaw as though to chuckle