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Only the weather of where we are Will change to the weather of where we go And for it to change we must be gone Before the blossoms, before the snow. At present the earth's a flaming star From where I sit at a desk in space But when I remove, I am the one, And the autumn was always in my face. A childhood that's spent in knowing this Is also a childhood that weathers age And only the reader that hurries on Has time to turn back the turning page. The autumn is where the springtime is Only older. And where we sit Not a single cell in the Cyclotron Will alter a turn of it.