gust of wind comes with Windsor Chimes,
dotted by dried brown oak leaves,
wet with the thin droplets of coming rain,
willows in grey fall breeze,
swirling descends October's face,
groaning bends the tireless oak trees,
red and expressionless the buildings on the square,
lit with warm, stagnant, yellow light,
heavy comes the storm unopposed,
washing, wiping, rushing summers memory away.
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