In autumn when the trees are brown
The little leaves come tumbling down
They do not make the slightest sound
But lie so quietly on the ground
Until the wind comes puffing by
And blows them off towards the sky.
"Despite all new inventions and modern designs, fad and fetishes, no one has yet invented, or will ever invent, a satisfying substitute for one's own family." -Dr. Stuart E. Rosenberg
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