September and Her Siblings
The author of creation lolls in his hammock as his ears feed on the crunch of his book.
And September dangles its anklets at my porch;
Butterflies are playing catch in the garden
And birds are knitting their mansions.
The flirty breeze sneaks to my bedroom window with all its serenades.
Trees have realised their nude and are reaching for their wardrobes
The sweet smell of essence wanders the forests
While cuddling jelly sun rays arouse my serene.
My body cannot but yearn to plunge its naked in the virgin minty pools down the woods.
My neighbourhood is a playground;
Kites are flying and kids' feet are cocoa.
Everyone's souls burns pale with a craving for strawberry waffles;
And Uncle Ben's shop never closes.
Grandpa prefers to await his sunset at the country lite-house
And it's the time of the year when our butterscotch house is left to my parents.
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