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Into the deep of the green
The coolness of autumn air
Pushing me on
To the sound of the geese
And the roaring bull
Up to the mills
That are lost in the mist
And the mast sitting proud
On the side of the road
And the little dark flocks
Of finches and pipits
And tinkling linnets
Over the rocks
The blackness of berries
Still held by the Elder
The red of the Rowan.
The turn of the wheel
The ticking of clocks.

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