Look, the tail of the
squirrel has grayed
in the Summer's musky
twilight. The lightning bug
replaced its luminous bulb.
Listen, the cricket learned
a new song on his
rustic harp, a song he
says he sings for
a harvest Fall.
Feel, the humid dusty wind
splinter the stifling
afternoon. Observe,
oh daughter, Observe
my dance. Please,
Child, dance along.
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