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You gave me lungs
and songs to sing.  September’s  frost
has kissed the pumpkin;  night air
wears a hint of chill.

Soul to soul
we spent the currency of Spring,
Now maples wear their glory’s flame;
too soon the brilliant blaze is done.

I hear the gone sound
of a thousand silver wings;
fireflies, dragon flies,
jet planes,

I watch the sky
with just a tiny twinge,
who could mourn
such a splendid season?

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