The air is thick, so heavy
Its oiliness clogs the skin,
Slowing down any movement.
Under the relentless blaring sun
Already the droopy roses have
Spent their fragrance,
Freshness is glaringly absent
Even in windy alley
The shade is tepid and sultry
'Tis the last day of summer,
Time to leave it behind.
Best to look forward
Crispy autumnal mornings
With their soft dappled light
Where subtle aroma rises
From morning dew
When the days call
For a brisk morning walk.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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