Three quarters
the year has gone
the nights
now longer than the day

The eighth month
in the ancient calendar
the stag roars
as will the storm

The clocks fall back
as we remember
those gone on ahead
in years gone by

The Hunter strides forth
in the pre-dawn hour
his faithful hounds
high in the east

The Celtic summer
is closing this month
leaves will fall
as the gales return

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