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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To My Beautiful Readers,
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 xo