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‘twas in the aging mellow of an October day ,
a savory, smoky day, when the changing begins
in slow and quiet ways, the gentle ways, the ways of growing old,
when the deepening of the last, past summer’s joy
into rustic, rusting honey-gold,
the bounder came,
with flicking tail of gray and fuzzy furry,
with twitching nose searching through the autumn air,
seemingly in determined, hurried care,
losing time, losing light, a hidden harvest he must find,
too much chattering in fussy fights with calico cat and hunting hawk,
too much chasing old friends up and down and down and up
the oak tree bark and the pine tree branch,
too much time, lost and gone,
bounding, bounding, stop and scratch,
bounding, bounding, stop and scratch,
where is that morsel, where is that stash,
here and there, two hops, three, where oh where,
near the unpainted, wooden, split rail fence,
behind the old man’s Adirondack chair,
here, there, seems I’ve looked almost everywhere,
ah, I found one, I mustn’t share,
must tuck away for a winter’s day,
bounding, bounding, stop and scratch,
bounding, bounding, stop and scratch,
Oh, no, the cat!
scrambling, scattering, off and away,
in the aging mellow of an October day.
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