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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