September passing

Not many more days like this one, Sun shawl around my shoulders, No bite of wind or sting of summer bugs, A last look at white butterflies, Flying now in pairs, Paw-paws, cat-tails, gold walnut leaves And little boys filling their pockets with buckeyes. Take this one . . . this day and knit it Into a warm topaz scarf for bitter days. Suddenly the day's mood droops as clouds Hide the sun and two satin doves, wings Rippling the orchard air like silk, Fly up to meet the chill and one small gray feather drifts down the day.

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