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The autumn world has reached the state of tarnished bronze --
The age of memory -- and time will be no more;
The stage of elements -- no more of folded space --
Forever fire apart from water, earth from air;
The fever of the leaves apart from wooden bones,
The cure of the keys apart from closing doors;
The copula of tongue apart from broken words;
The glitter of the sun apart from tarnished bronze --
And when the world is minted in the metal seeds,
My coins of eyes will be your ransom from the wind.
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