I’ve looked through my posts and do not see if I ever posted this poem. I feel like I did, but I can’t find it. I wrote it one September, possibly late August, and today reminded me of it. Probably five or so years ago, sitting on my front porch watching  my friend/like a sister/former patient ‘in waiting”s little boy play, I was in awe of this time of year.

The birds’ cheerful singing with the wind chimes a ringing

Give voice to the breeze as it blows.

Warm air that feels cool, sky as blue as a pool,

Make the day as good as I’ve known.

Little boy Ryan with popsicle lips and butterflies sipping at zinnia tips:

Two special sights to behold.

The greens are much darker and serve as a marker,

With the gathering streaks of gold,

Of the promise that Autumn hovers; and a peacefulness covers

The summer’s long dry breath of air.

Cicadas chip through the still afternoon

And echo my thanks to be there.

P.Ward

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