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September Scenes


Mary-Ellen Grisham

Morning mist is on the meadow
Orange sun sits upon the hill
Birds fly south in crimson coveys
Apples rest burnished on the sill.

Pockets of mist are freely floating
Vapors rise from moisture-laden lands
Ponds and lakes are gently steaming
Fields seem caught in ghostly hands.

Sun-parched corn sways ragged tatters
Cornfields sweep the cloudy skies
Farmers harvest summer bounties
Shaggy lands breathe secret sighs.

Evening mist is on the meadow
Gold moon rests upon the hill
Mounds of clouds make moving shadows
Open fields lie free and still.

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