It was a rainy day, I’s returning home,
The road was not lonely, yet I’s alone.
I was wetting, as no umbrella I’d then.
I was shivering almost wetting in rain. ...
Browning, old fellow,
Your leaves grow yellow,
Beginning to mellow
As seasons pass.
Your cover is wrinkled,
And stained and sprinkled,
And warped and crinkled
From sleep on the grass.
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