September 12, 2005
Appleblossoms from spring
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 clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze.
- September, John Updike
Posted by tracey at 12:22 PM | Comments (0)
September 07, 2005
The Last Rose of Summer
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone.
- Thomas Moore, The Last Rose of Summer, 1830
(Manipulated in PSP 7)
Posted by tracey at 04:33 PM | Comments (0)
April 27, 2005
First bloom of the season.
Posted by tracey at 05:30 PM | Comments (0)