We live as the children of autumn’s first snow,
Brought forth in the warmth of the waning glow
Of summer, accustomed to bounty and wealth.
But the seasons are changing: silent, with stealth
The cold is approaching, the riches we clasp
Are rotting away in our weakening grasp.
The summer expires with a sigh and a gasp,
And the dirges of winter begin to blow.
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