It is a willow when summer is over,a willow by the riverfrom which no leaf has fallen norbitten by the sunturned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,swing and grow palerover the swirling waters of the riveras if loth to let go,they are so cool, so drunk with the swirl of the wind and of the river—oblivious to winter,the last to let go and fallin to the water and on the ground.
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