Dappled frieze of speckles, gold and green, Swaying in the autumn breeze Delicately pressed pennies, lace-worked in burnished light Dressed still in summer's gleam, Holding on to their last vestiges of verdant sheen. Lustrous, flickering, frivolous, bright Filigree of lace-like leaves, Dancing against an ice-blue sky, cloud-free. Autumn at her elegant best, kissing the brow of summer's rest.
Madame Birch, if I may be so bold, where do you hide your silver Beneath your cloak of green and gold? Or will your precious secret remain forever hidden in its folds?
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