wooded hills with hooded eyes
glance furtively at livid skies
while east wind's cold and bony fingers
pluck at autumn's frail disguise
as lustre drains from emerald crowns
the stars seek out the darkened downs
they tiptoe through the brooding barrows
warm their hands on sleepy towns
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It never fails to disappoint...
Warning: Amphigorical Content!
grubby grists of euphuistic prolixity
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