LATE SUMMER - Poem

 

LATE SUMMER

The leaves have already
Flown for the year
And the coatless days
Are a distant mirage.

Soon the birds
Will pass through,
Singing
South, south, south.

Winter does not arrive
On the afternoon jet
Or with the sun rising
Farther away, each day.

Winter arrives
With the realization
There is less time
In each passing day.

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