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No word of mine could show it to you,
no carefully crafted phrase
could paint its picture
in your mind.

No rhyme or meter could draw
the leaves that fall with a
ballerina's grace from
their boughs.

No metaphor can explain the beauty
of an acer turned red or gold
dropping its jewellry
to the earth.

No witty words can demonstrate
how fair the first frost
that freezes the leaves
where they lie.

No word can show you autumn;
You must see it for yourself.

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