![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5GZa3QiH6iCHE7G-gmMzN8VsbJz5Dx8R7f6JrD07NBYQBNv8DxwxriLXcZUzW0Gu-8uymdKORF51SgGZ0TSWJJJt3YU8cwjnAhcR5k1yB9a2VxmwybJd20zmmbh2BdzATyHhVkYd2uza/s280/IMG_1248.jpg)
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers
Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers.
I sing of maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.
- Robert Herrick
I noticed again ...
Just now ...
The sweet, warm smell of September.
Is it the grass or the sun?
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