Cold wind
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- Justin
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- Man of autumn, cold wind,blow down the trees’ leaves.Fire on the ground. The sky isperfect water, frost-cold,rippled only by flocksof black birds flying and gone.Their brightness can blindan uncareful watcher, work himin a froth of hands, not-wingsthat ache with the loss of flight.A tear is flung faithfullyto the ocean of air, slipping inslowly, is as gone as the birds.
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