Autumn leaves are falling
Like the colorful artisanship
Of some richly wrought, multicolored vase.

In shadowy forest sweet-smelling pines
Rise from carpets of rust-colored needles,
Pointing the way to the white-capped waves
Of the troubled autumn sky.

Now night clouds gather,
The earth darkens outside;
The trees assume the chilling aspect
Of monstrous green icicles
Imparting grim warning to those
Who venture amidst them.
They form a living barrier
Which no man dares penetrate.

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