SEPTEMBER
by John Updike
The breezes taste
of apple peel.
The air is full
of smells to feel--
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
burning brush,
new books, erasers,
chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
well-honeyed hums,
While Mother cuts
chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
with suds, the days
are polished with
a morning haze.
* * * * *
Photo source: morguefile.com
* * * * *
PS. A new post in the works.
See you soon,
Brenda
xox
of apple peel.
The air is full
of smells to feel--
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
burning brush,
new books, erasers,
chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
well-honeyed hums,
While Mother cuts
chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
with suds, the days
are polished with
a morning haze.
* * * * *
Photo source: morguefile.com
* * * * *
PS. A new post in the works.
See you soon,
Brenda
xox
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"Some people come into our lives, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never the same." Franz Peter Schubert
Thank you so much for leaving your 'footprint' here in my comment box. I do appreciate you taking a moment to share your thoughts today. Brenda