Oh! this dreary Month,
Of weary waiting,
Of colourful death,
Of Shades of red.
It is autum don't you see?
When death paints,
Of red the trees,
And green dies into brown.
And slowly,
Starts to change,
From bluish the sky,
Fades into gray.
Bleak a new age,
Comes into play
Misty the day,
As their last deaths.
But then the skies
Turn 'round again
Showing the sun,
Warming today
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