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Try to remember the kind of september.
The breezes taste of apple peel.
The air is full of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs, burning brush,
new books, erasers, chalk and such.
The bee, his hive, well honeyed hum,
and mother cuts Chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed cleanwith suds
the days are polished with morning haze.
John Updike
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