September

Sept

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

CakePink2Elizabeth


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *