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A gray Labor Day;
Not even bees are working
Under the thick sky.
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Cobweb on window
But not a sign of spider;
She's yesterday's news.
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Sun breaks through the clouds
And the insects get busy
All around my face.
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Blue before the brown:
Chicory rules the road for now.
Still the dead leaves fall.
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Black Eyed Susans smile
Demurely by the road side;
They keep their secret.
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Patches of sunlight
Dapple the darkened forest,
Then just fade away.
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Puddle reflects sky
(Or does sky reflect puddle?)
It's so confusing.
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An ear on the hill
Cups its soft, blank mushroom flesh
White and unhearing.
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