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41 COMING OF ASH While hills set on fire in November ablaze, Trees dance, leaves roll up, Air current wheezes and chants And a burning streamside tree in it is thus pushed. Out’s the fire! Light, weak and shriveled, the stem Floats The ashes none sees their rise nor fall, To the bottom have swum ’em Weeks pass, months die to the near same season, Like maize visiting the grange in August, Swims in a cluster, Breaks open the door, scatters the weeds, Bathes in the stream And stops in her its thirst for once for all As it chants its funeral song! ...

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