With hot September Sundays for floaters and sunners,
Cool autumn breezes from college football's beginning,
The Fall Classic in the atmosphere for fifteen hundred
innings,
A walk under the glow that the harvest moon's shedding,
Mixed with yellowing streetlights and treetops all red'ning,
and a new slate of classes.
I'd never stop learning
Over trivial thoughts of production and earning.
That's where I go, zoned out, with notebook and tunes,
My off-label cure for the Summertime Blues.
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