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By Dixie Willson
To be read slowly and quietly
I like the fall
The mist and all
I like the night owl’s lonely call
And wailing sound
Of wind around
I like the gray
November day
And bare, dead boughs that coldly sway
Against my pane
I like the rain
I like to sit
And laugh at it
And tend my cozy fire a bit
I like the fall
The mist and all