The sound of a lonely crow
a house bat making his last few rounds
Left-over clouds turning red
it is Autumn
Freed from the burden of eternal happiness
I can rest
and grow
Maybe I’m a Moomin
and I should fill my tummy with needles of pine,
and go to sleep
A deep dreamless sleep
Oblivious to red burning meadows
only wake up to the returning
swallows
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