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Late September Morn

I, dreamlost,

wake

to golden leaves of beech

sunlit

from my bed

as airdew clouds over the hedge

rise and vanish

as the eastern horizon above the valley

is lost, sunk

beneath dawndrifts of mist

not yet warmed to fade

beneath the clear blue sky;

the uncut grass of the dew-wet lawn,

droplet bent:

cool promise as

I, barefooted,

explore

the cusp of the...

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