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A wild wind
This feels like autumn
Windblown leaves
Fallen fruit
Gulls are wheeling in the gale
Like the weather
They've lost their summer heads
My moorland oak
Is straining by the barn
Screaming air
Flowing through the gaps
I wonder if the swallows
Are just hiding
Or studying their maps
Before their great escape
To warmer climes
And leave us once again
To howling winter.

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