HOW FEEBLE IS
SUCH A MOMENT
Any day now I want to say : it's so
late along in the summer already. The
June-bugs long gone, the locusts of August,
any moment now start. Even the leaves on
the trees look tired already : the bright, brash
first-green of Summer is gone. Now, darker,
morose, they filter the air and fan for the
moisture their green pulls off. Silently
waiting, already, an end.
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