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| When the oaks distinguish themselves |
Mists shroud the morning
the field and the woods going brown
this season for closer inspection
Finches sailing fast in flocks
over hoary stands of goldenrod
both losing their brilliance
But the finches don't leave
they stay they feed
they become the field
And the oaks the oaks
distinguish themselves
standing tall with their leaves
raising their voices
when the weather turns
and I and I
in my seventy-fifth year
reprove myself Persevere.
