Unhappiness Poem by Charles Hanson Towne
Unhappiness
High on the hills, the miser, Autumn sits,
Hoarding his wondrous wealth of treasured gold;
Yet in the night I hear his grieving voice
In every wind that sweeps across the wold.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn,wind
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8/22/2026 7:18:26 PM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
