Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 8 · column 1 of 7 · from the scan, no model involved
Let me remember the feel of the sun that joy before October’s done... the torpor of those golden rays that lazily lays... on golden leaves that breezes toss among the cornered, hiding moss... the pungent smell of grass gone brown, that warms the frozen gloss... Remember the odor of apples’ last repose? It’s final roll to a heap of sweet... A meal for bees and those little other buzzers...called by the warm from their honeycomb home. A bonus blush for a hapless rosea blooming celebration for the autumn nose it’s perfume a promise lost; bravely denying the evenings frost... its wilting fought but the chill has shown: If it could have a thought, it would surely muse
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