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The paradise of Autumn light
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It is the words starve us, the act that feeds.
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A few books shining like the wood of trees.
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It’s hard / to understand / but time apparently
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And how is one to / read a nod? Is a nod an exclamation?
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When the sky is blue as Minerva’s eyes
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the first smile of any saint, a promise toward the perfection
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When the eyes of me flash their lightning on you,
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She crosses a bridge and then sets it on fire
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New Ending.