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Thursday 17 November 2011

September 1958

‘September Song’ played on the radio,
The fragrance of Mum’s plum-cake filled the house,
Pencils lay, sharpened, in their wooden box,
(The ever-errant compass yet to find.)

As we made camp under the Harvest Moon,
While vast Orion stood our glittering guard,
We never gave thought to our September years.

© Gill Dunstan
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