Late August in the Kingdom.

Morning mist over Molly`s,
a late August gold haze.
Crossing hay fields of Danville,
Cabot`s meadows and maze.
A spoon dips the honey,
apple cinnamon rolls,
sippy straws in a backpack,
empty cereal bowls.
Red leaf in the maple,
a yellowing white birch,
pot pies in the oven,
Thursday night at the church.
A blue ribbon Bessie,
the taste of fried dough,
bloomin onions in Tunbridge,
4 H best of show.
Pink holly hocks have risen,
soon the purple mums bloom,
and there`ll be frost on the butternut,
under full harvest moon.

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New poem written this week as I begin to see and feel Fall in the air.