Autumn Within
It is autumn; not withoutBut within me is the cold.Youth and spring are all about;It is I that have grown old.
Birds are darting through the air,Singing, building without rest;Life is stirring everywhere,Save within my lonely breast.
There is silence: the dead leavesFall and rustle and are still;Beats no flail upon the sheaves,Comes no murmur from the mill.
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