A mysterious breeze blows,
Is it Autumn?
Or is it Spring?

These seasons mirror each other,
Don't you think?
This world mirrors itself along its hemisphere.

Lime to Emerald, then Gold to Bronze.
Two seasons, like a calm before the storm.
Do you see what I see?

A tango between birth and death,
The music billowing then sighing,
As different as day and night

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