That season of my life I now can savor
When goldenrod on every back road border
Ignites its solar flares, and purple asters
Lift their wine in one last toast to summer.
My sugar maple leaves illuminate
The swamps where darning needles copulate.
My milkweed pods are tightly packed to labor
And let fly seeds on any passing vapor.
Meteors arc across my inner spaces.
Unblemished roses baptize me with fragrance.
The wild geese point to south my weather vane
This is the time for riding hurricanes
Before the tawny grasses crystallize
Before the long dark winter nights arrive.
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