We live for these earnest fall hours
Like waking up in a dream
We see how things have grown
More joyful and more dour
The last of trees and flowers
The flaming angel returns
To take his garden back
Only revealing at the end
All the gold he was hiding
And you find yourself as if
The only scarecrow left
Standing in a harrowed field
Deciding not to be dead
But to go for a walk instead
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