Tree

At the fishing place

The skies they were ashen and sober,
The leaves they were withering and seer
The leaves they were crispen and seer
It was night in that lonesome october
of my most immemorial year
it was hard by the dim lake of auber
in the misty mid region of wier


My memory! oy, this is all i've got from the beginning, i might be missing a part. I know the middle and end and other parts well, at least I did, but could never quite put it all together. Ullalume by Edgar Allen Poe. Let us on by this tremulous light!