Musing On an August Afternoon

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Edging toward the Western Sky

The Afternoon Sun rides High

But ’twill too soon Disappear from Sight

Giving way to Blackest Night.

Scarce a Month has passed

Oh, how Long the June Days did last.

But now, though Summer’s Nigh

The Leaves begin to Sigh.

In a Mild, August Breeze they Cavort

Knowing Their Days grow Short.

Soon will the Limbs be Bare

Trembling in the Sharp, Winter Air.

And We who face Our Own December

Will sigh and Fondly Remember

The Bygone Days of Spring

When Our Youthful Hearts did Sing.

As We Face the Sharpening Wind

We Contemplate the End.

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