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"September! I never tire of turning it over in my mind. It has warmth, depth, and color. It glows like old amber."  By Patience Strong

A hint of autumn I can feel
when summer walks away on August’s heels.
Melancholy visits me; I’m not sure why,
but my mind goes drifting like dandelion wisps
that many years ago 
I’d lightly blown and then wished upon.
Cotton candy swirls are dabbed 
onto an azure sky.
My birthday’s month I dearly love.
Oh, how sweet is September’s dawn.

Summer, however, wants to linger.
Through rows of grains he sweeps long gold fingers,
but my month elegantly tiptoes in,
her asters waving in the breeze.
I inhale her fragrance. Her slight wind
I can feel falling on my skin.
September acquiesces to cooler days and nights
by the time of the  autumnal equinox,
and leaves will start swirling soon.
Like bright scarlet cardinals, they take flight.

September disrobed is a sapphire night.
At break of day, she’s Morning Glory’s affection, 
and at twilight, awash with colors, a time for reflection.
I was born in the week of September’s start.
That is when my birth month broke my heart,
for a youthful romance was lovelier than any other rose
on my bushes in September that I'd ever seen before then.
Thus, sweet romance I still write . . . again and again.
Although actually a late summer baby am I,
I enjoy the fall even though sun soon grows stingy in the sky.

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