WHOOMP THERE IT WAS!
It's been a chilly summer:
There are already gold leaves
On the cold trees.
A withering hope leads
Down the river,
Where the dragon boats leave.
So now this is over.
There are mope seeds:
With proud distant owners.
The withering hope bleeds,
To who cast the first stoner.
The reel spins, a single movie;
the main part: always a loner.
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