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The old rusty gate,

a door to the last resting place

Leafs fall from the trees,

down to the bleak burial ground

Branches cast shadows over the grey tombs,

a eerie galanty show of death

corroded and aged by mournful times,

the illegible letters on the gravestones

I walk between the places of forgotten periods,

as dismal thoughts of decease haunt me

In the deathlike silence I hear whispering voices,

telling funereal stories from elder times