September Poetry

"The breezes taste  
Of apple peel.  
The air is full  
Of smells to feel-  
Ripe fruit, old footballs,  
Burning brush,  
New books, erasers,  
Chalk, and such.  
The bee, his hive,  
Well-honeyed hum,  
And Mother cuts  
Chrysanthemums.  
Like plates washed clean  
With suds, the days  
Are polished with  
A morning haze.  "  -  John Updike, September