"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