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Hunker Down
Subtle, very subtle, yet the promise whispers in the trees.
The zinnias struggle with a push one last bud to sky unfurl,
While the neighbor's cat goes on the prowl for one more kill to squeeze.
Late September days will end and the unprepared imperil.
The strident cries heard in the sky are the sounds of birds going south.
Though crammed and touching wings at times, they fly with great effusion.
A squirrel hordes some nuts he's found by stuffing them in his mouth,
While looking for a ready den, the mice run in confusion.
The slowly, shortening days are the sun's bowing to appease
The tired flora/fauna pact that's desperate for a long rest,
But a softened whisper in the wind has changed to a cold breeze,
And ice and snow begin to form on the tallest mountain crest.
Copyright ©
Hilda Greenhough
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