I saw an ebbing portent in clouds
over the peaks, a blur
of rain falling with gray tendrils
and august sighed

wraith winds blew from the north
I rubbed my face
as a man long in the tooth
thinking of lustful
summer days

September will blink and autumn
will sashay in like a
boisterous gypsy spreading
wafts of sage

there will be burnt-orange offerings
fluttering, umber talismans
and whispers when
dusk greets
harvest moon

all of this I see
as the birches wax humble
with their yellowing tresses as
ravens caw reminders
to tarry not

the mountains are solemn
they are the wise men

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