At the cusp of summer/fall
is Calendar's precocious child.
She's school-age now and pure delight,
seldom docile, often wild.
A lively sprite with heaps of charm,
she comes adorned in harvest hues:
Her apple cheeks and corn sheaf hair,
a russet shirt and grass-stained shoes.
Through orchards flush with ripened fruit,
reaped fields of barley, wheat and rye,
vast vineyards full of plump red grapes,
she'll romp or flit, cavort and fly.
Perhaps most welcome of all months,
this cheery moppet makes me smile.
She's only thirty short days long.
I wish she'd linger for a while.
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