Deepest Discontent August,
And September,
Almost gone,
Like sweetened dreams,
Portrayed in summers song,
The full moon seems,
A million miles away,
Yet close enough,
To impact on the day,
The promise,
Of a summer, unfulfilled,
The autumn foliage,
Tired,
And deathly chilled,
Yet holding on,
With weakened,
Fingertip,
And yielding to release,
Their futile grip.
Preparing now,
For winter's sad lament,
October heralds,
Deepest discontent.
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