Take note of the autumn hues
the sun was laying in the leaves,
now being sure to rain and fly
for, as countless times before,
inspiration is bound to return
and further the sublime!
For aren’t we ourselves
such chords plunked
on the rays of arrayed light
dexterously plunked by Gods
as fate itself nimbly tiptoes
on a poem’s unfolding points?
And isn’t such a poem like pouring
a wine you already know from before?
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