Gone the Languid Summer, a poem
They’re here
Mystical, whispers of
All Souls and
All Saints
Mischievous winds
banging on deck doors,
grabbing my hat away,
juggling golden leaves
with invisible hands
Baking days,
mahmoul and baklava
Scent of rosemary
and roasted lamb
Bed linens, cold
Circulating memories
Early sunsets,
hot chocolate nights
Gone the heat,
the languid summer
To each season
its reason and joy
© 2017, Jamie Dedes
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