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Harvest
 
The sod 'tis covered by straw...

Late summer apples are on display~~

Smokes silver rings circle 'round bonfires crackling...

In an crisp air--brushed--touched--array;


***


Orange--russet leaves- curl themselves~~

With a most brittle snapping noise...

'Tis Autumn calling to Mother Earth...

In its most brisk Fall time voice;


***


Hearkening that Summer 'tis nearly o'er~~

As the Golden--Browns- now pave our way~

Down Summers oft' traveled cobbled lanes~

Of The Fall Of My Yesterday!



Welcoming In:' Autumn'

Its first day: Either the 21st or 23rd Of September

By Theodora Onken

© 2018 Theodora Onken (All rights reserved)

 

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