"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
Lovely Pat, you know how I like a Sunday Song!
ReplyDeleteI do, LindyLouMac. Glad you like it.x
ReplyDeleteSeptember....
ReplyDelete"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
That's lovely, Jan. I didn't know of it so thank you for quoting it here.
ReplyDelete