I stand amid the roar
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What is the nub of such a plain grey day?
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
We hide from the wind, we run from the water
The harvest moon has come!
When summer’s end is nighing
Tales from ColesTales from Coles I stand amid the roar
What is the nub of such a plain grey day?
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
We hide from the wind, we run from the water
The harvest moon has come!
When summer’s end is nighing
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