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A field full of Harebells,
and the sky has fallen.
Did you notice that the heather
Has arrived?
Cloaking the hill
In purple cloths
Brings sweetness
To the breeze.
Goldenrod
at the peak of its powers
Shining.
Between absinth
And mauve thistle-tops
Michaelmas daisies
Nod their sad little heads
Leading the dance
into autumn

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