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Emily Sep 2020
An evening in November
Spent trodding over flattened grass
Between trees of a whispering orchard.
When the air is cold and sharp in your nose
And the sky’s aglow with gold,
When the night tastes sweet against your tongue
And the sun is pulled below,
Take a breath and make a wish
On the fading sunbeams between the orchard rows.

— The End —