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In the cool, late Fall,
just before noon,
they glimpse a full silver moon.
There’s tea prior to last breakfast call.

In the thick, brown heat
alight black flies
‘round desperate, vacant eyes;
if but the custard moon they could eat.

Joseph I. Middlesworth
(As published in “Vignettes in Verse”, 2000; and “The Easterner” Magazine, 2004)

By ishmael

© 2019 ishmael (All rights reserved)


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