Poem Robert Frost

November

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We saw leaves go to glory,
Then almost migratory
Go part way down the lane,
And then to end the story
Get beaten down and pasted
In one wild day of rain.
We heard ” ‘Tis Over” roaring.
A year of leaves was wasted.
By denying and ignoring
The waste of nations warring.

THE RABBIT HUNTER
THE LOST FOLLOWER

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