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The yellow leaves fly with the wind |
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Covering the graves below |
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The willow |
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The old man stands in the doorway |
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Wiping his |
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Eyes with soiled sleeve |
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He kneels at the foot of the |
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Graves |
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And touches the time-worn epitaph |
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Blessed are the |
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Pure in heart, |
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For they shall see God |
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The grief of |
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Loss claws at his bleak soul |
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The wind carries the first |
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Freezing rain |
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With the rain appears a light |
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The |
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Bright ray of the cold autumn day |
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It illuminates the cliffs |
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Beyond the field |
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And casts vast shades upon the soaked |
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Grass |
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The man recoils from his distant thoughts |
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The |
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Rain flows along his furrowed cheeks |
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He stares at the warmth |
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Of caressing light |
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And weeps the unseen tears with the |
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Rain |
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He touches the grass with the palm of his |
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Hand |
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And lets the wind sway him towards the past |
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He |
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Follows the path of forgotten oblivion |
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And vanishes in the |
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Rain on his dying day |