Wednesday, September 16, 2009

September, a poem

We are drifting into
the soft days of September.
The horizon fades
into the haze of the sky,
and the trees exhale relief;
the long work of summer is
They drop spinning leaf,
the lazy spiral of autumn weaving
the spell of rest around us.
Lie fallow.
The sun struggles
to attain August's glory,
defeated by night's
rising chill.
Lie fallow
in these soft,
last days of
September summer.

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