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Mikhail Lermontov


Sheets in the yellowed
And whirl and fly;
Only in Bor ate numb
The dark green store.

Under a hanging rock
I do not love between colors
Plowman to relax sometimes
From the afternoon papers.

The beast brave necessarily
Hiding somewhere in a hurry.
Night month dim, and field
Through the mist, only silver.

Poems about autumn

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