SEPTEMBER PASSES a poem



 SEPTEMBER PASSES

 
On the patio, new foliage
pushes through remnants
of Autumn leaves.
The brick path
is mottled and scarred
with wet pine needles
and acorn caps.
Cobwebs are whisked off
white wicker. The far-away
sun shines cold.
In layered clothing,
I sip herbal tea.

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