September brought the smell of dusty fading leaves,
The smoke from smoldering potato stems,
The scents of dried up grass suspended in the air
Blended with rotten fruits and soaked wood.
September comes in chilly morning when you feel
The woolen sweater touch your skin with warmth.
Your feet are wet from walking through a marshy field
That's getting tired of a constant drizzle.
To meet September taste rye bread and nuts,
Ripe apples bruised on sides by crows.
Your tongue remembers floury feeling at your palate.
September's bitter sweetness is like wormwood with young honey.
Mature nature wears brassy, brown and gold
In sharp contrast with low evening sky.
The vision of a yellow maple leaf in clay
Is to replace a picture of a sprinkled spiderweb of August.
September 2000
September
© Copyright: Тьма Безднова, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112121100251
Свидетельство о публикации №112121100251
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