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All of those beneath 
their weathered gravestones -
Lined with crows and 
autumn’s leaves arraying,
Speak to us through 
silent, pallid cold bones
As their ancient 
bodies are decaying.
Spirits, magic, mischief 
and its dark tones
Fill the chilly, spice-filled 
air - displaying
Harvest’s climate and, 
for us, the reason
Death’s romance extends 
beyond this season.