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SEPTEMBER

 

 

            In the pause where the year brings around,

            a final gush of flowers from the South

                        scents the breeze, stirs once the will

                                    to love, and all is still.

 

            At last, out of the clear North

            of us, after the hazy torpidity, before

                        the whipping firs and falling water,

                                    falls the light in Autumn.

 

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© copyright 2002 C.H. Connors