Bleed spirit, into bronze-tinged night!
Lift me above chiffon clouds height
To whirl and whirl amongst moon’s glow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
And Luna’s breath will fill my sails
Or perhaps November’s brisk gales!
Brushing tall tops of the willow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
Carry me, carry me aloft,
With a Northern gust’s robust ‘waft!’
To soar with hawk and cawing crow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
O’er shimmering lakes and loons call,
Sashaying grand with lovely fall
Cross fields dreaming of spring’s farrow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.
From chimneys sage-like smells would taunt,
As I flew by on midnight jaunt
Through yellowed dell and bronze meadow,
Melding with the crisp gold tableau.

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