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A sepia daguerreotype;
the flat fields, the stubble left over
from October’s second cutting,
the shocks of corn
like rows of teepees ,

Some see a morning monotone
but my eye
sees a thousand shades and hues,
a palette unmatched
by any mortal hand,

O beautiful bronze of autumn
when you are gone
the year is all but done.
In spring
the clover will bloom again,

The crocus and the daffodil
will decorate new green
but my soul still finds its solace
on the Eastern Shore
in autumn.

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