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The mist heralds a dreamy, tender Apollonian dawn.

I philosophize about wings of hawk or king – sparrow.

In amazing grove at the Blue Hours – was born here a fawn.

You should adore as well as praise charm such a moony morn.

The beauty of world is indeed so pulchritudinous.

The autumnal meek leaves, having danced, at fallish stone, lie.

The picturesque mist is shrouded in mood of a sorcery.

I muse about my bosom full of druidic light dream.

The nightingale is under a starlet bewildering.

Flights of birdies are the moon-like thankful melancholy.

The autumnal mood is never ending, sometimes dazzling.

I have fallen in love with wizardly-like fantasy.

The fall belongs to bright Morning star with the enchantment.

I love forever - the Moon in the dearest bewitchment.

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