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22 Seasons The leaves were falling, and the green bear was in a rout. The temperature was dropping, and the green bear was aging . Soon the snow would fall, and the green bear would fall also—“to sleep, perchance to dream.” He deceived himself no longer: the garish summer was over, the vigor of it spent. Never again would he have to take on the burden of the double , that bilious counterpart who raised his fearsome head many times. So the green bear softened towards midwinter, and grew old in his ageless season. 01.Poems.1-64_Fried.indd฀฀฀22 11/28/05฀฀฀12:33:18฀PM ...

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