Late September
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ang of fruitage in the air;Red boughs bursting everywhere;Shimmering of seeded grass;Hooded gentians all a'mass. Warmth of earth, and cloudless windTearing off the husky rind,Blowing feathered seeds to fallBy the sun-baked, sheltering wall. Beech trees in a golden haze;Hardy sumachs all ablaze,Glowing through the silver birches.How that pine tree shouts and lurches! From the sunny door-jamb high,Swings the shell of a butterfly.Scrape of insect violinsThrough the stubble shrilly dins. Every blade's a minaretWhere a small muezzin's set,Loudly calling us to prayAt the miracle of day. Then the purple-lidded nightWestering comes, her footsteps lightGuided by the radiant boonOf a sickle-shaped new moon.
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