September
Autumn's laden with fruit and ripening grains,
To be harvested after the latter day rains.
Wild geese fly waving their wings goodbye,
In patterns like arrows in a faraway sky.
The vesper bell that rings with the song,
Tolls for a summer that stayed too long;
Now the Master is painting all the green trees,
With scarlet, gold and russet brown leaves.
The passions of heat from a summer's sun,
Shine more gently now that summer is done;
This is the time to put the treasures to sleep,
To cover the gardens, the pathways to sweep.
The hazel nut trees in the still mossy bower,
Shelters with care autumn's last lonely flower;
And the soft sunny days of golden September,
Carry us through to the cold of December.
Copyright © Elizabeth Wesley | Year Posted 2011
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