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These Leaves Falling by Frank Coffman These leaves falling on October lawn, Fossils numberless of the tall trees wings, Land dead-muddle in the mushroom rings. Tree fingers lose their feel; the sap is drawn Down from the tube tips. The summer brawn Is gone or going now. Fall's seasonings Effect more than the trees. Its colorings Pervade both flora and the close man-fawn Who watches now as dawn is faintly red. Here he will come to watch when fall has fled; Here to this spot when the winds grow blow and brusk, By tusks of the tall-fall, winter-splinter, husk-on-husk Trees, he will stand and grow from the common bed And wait with giant brothers for the russet dusk.