It's late October.
It has been such a grey day.
It's now getting late,
And the witching hour will soon
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The ghostly voice of Rain whispers among the leaves. The wind begins to Die; only darkness prevails Will we make it home? We are so tired and afraid!
Once again autumn came with her sad heart, with its blackness and short light, it is the season of death and separation, how beautiful is your poem and you wrote it at the right time