Arms of September

As I go through a jungle field, I blaze a trail of tears, and a war path of torture I tread. I keep trekking through the mind-fields of life where little relief is certain. That is, until I remember that September is coming. I hear her humming in the distance and praying for me to hold on just a little bit longer. Sweet September, my rock, my anchor, retriever of the battle scared souls and those forced to pay high tolls. When I am spent and sold and every bone seems to have been broken, I hasten to remember whose team I'm on. Then I recall, and reenergized from the stall, from the weariness of it all, I rise from the fall. September is coming! She knows me by name and by sight and raises me from the blight. Worn and torn with blood, sweat, and tears from years of conflict and woe, I see September. Seeing September, now just ahead, hope rises from the deep and sweeps me into her calming and strong arms. 082822PS