An ode to the New England fall, the peace of grey days by the sea, & yearning to return there.
The Late Summer Wains to a thin chill at night
And the memories of the colored corn on doors do arrive
Familiar like family new shades of past are alight
the wood & colors calling forth a sunken side
My Heart is pastoral feeling wide for my mothers nature
the exotic ways of foreign lands never can escape her
New England smells again of dying leaves
Our hearts won't grow so cold from the breeze
The Summer is ending & I want it too.
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