September Poem

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"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 hum, 

And Mother cuts 

Chrysanthemums. 

Like plates washed clean 

With suds, the days 

Are polished with 

A morning haze. "

-  John Updike, September

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