September
Surprise this is the month I was born.
Each time this month ends, I am forlorn.
Pressing winter is around the corner in scorn.
Though the colors changing and all they adorn,
Enrich days of this month especially in the morn.
My favorite month within the year, without mourn.
Because without this, I would maybe been unborn,
Each passing day serves to shatter warmth and warn.
Rendering nature’s time, we both wait to be reborn.
Copyright © Cecil Hickman | Year Posted 2011
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