How quietly the year has passed away
Into that nothingness from whence it came,
And now the slowly drifting days are gray
Like powdered ashes near a dying flame;
The maple trees bewail their fallen crown
And autumn trails away like smoke at dawn—
The grass has faded to a dusty brown,
And I am lonely for a summer gone.

Louis L’Amour, Lines To A Season, Smoke From This Altar

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