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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473501" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Autumnal Sunday</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473501" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Autumnal Sunday </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473501" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Rain, it is October the month of melancholy<br>and you know that the blue sky and sun of <br>yesterday was just another foolish illusion <br>the cock didn’t crow this morning and dogs <br>ears didn’t move when a stranger’s voice <br>echoed in narrow streets, they knew it was <br>the voice of doom; </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473501" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">the harvester had arrived in coming month <br>the old would succumb to the damp breath <br>of death; not too many tears shed, faces in <br>a black frame, yes, that’s the way it is we <br>understand death if not our own. Dogs need <br>not be told, they snooze sure they are own <br>their own immortality</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Oskar+Hansen">Oskar Hansen</a></strong></div>

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