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A scurrying scuttle
Like a mouse in the attic
The bustle of Summer
Gathering up her things
Impatiently packing
Sometimes erratic
It’s baggage construed
From butterfly wings
One last look cast about
One last satisfied sigh
One more Season over and out
No more Summer thunder
Nor lightning rent sky
A satisfied feeling
And in dire need of rest
Summer finds
That prospect appealing…
Time to put Fall to the test
Crisp breezes of Autumn
Begin blowing in
As the new season arrives
And Summer is bourne away
With the wind
A wind that sings songs
Both serene and erratic
With a scurrying sound
…like a mouse in the attic…
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem