SEPTEMBER

The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-

Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Drying grass,
New books and blackboard
Chalk in class.

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.

~John Updike~


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