September MidnightBY SARA TEASDALELyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,Ceaseless, insistent. 4 The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silenceUnder a moon waning and worn, broken,Tired with summer. 8 LetContinue reading “September Midnight : Sara Teasdale : : September Poems : : Months Poems : :”
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MADHU MALTI 