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Dixie Willson

The Mist and All

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.—