Poetry

September

by Irene Conway

From the swinging garden chair
My eyes lazily arise
To see broad whipped-cream clouds
Scudding fast across the skies

South winds have now shifted
And the billowy masses
That just stood so still
Are now long-distance dashers.

The fact it's September
Is hard to believe
For the mercury hovers
Near ninety degrees!

These warm playful breezes
Might quick seduce the new
But I was born in Melrose
So weather buffs eschew.

I like the heat, withstand the cold
And have weathered many seasons
These instant climate changes
Make living here my reason.


September 5, 2003


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