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Leafy October has yielded to be still silent days,
The deep, deepening days of November,
a strange beauty.
Sombre November and the last leaf has returned to the sodden earth.
Forsaken, naked trees against the sky in stark reality.
The dead remembered and mourned,
The fields laid fallow
At this turning of the year
At this yearning of the ye year
I await renewal
Mary McCabe.
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