Eager for the great hibernation
That sluggish, creeping cold
Dipping my consternation
In the patina of the old
Until the latest kneading
Becomes another hidden fold.
How I flit like dry leaves
Counting down in seconds browned
All the moments upcoming winter breathes
As its consciousness is found,
As it awakes, and yawns,
And runs the sky to ground.
viewingcamelot 
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