September, Please Don'T Come
September, I‘m asking you, “please don’t come.”
I can’t take the heartbreak every year.
I need something to make me numb.
Let me see if I can make this more clear.
<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>
This is the month that he and I wed.
The twelfth day was one of the best.
It was so much fun, looking ahead.
I felt we were wonderfully blessed.
It’s also the month, that he was created.
On day number thirteen.
From the first of the month he anxiously awaited
his birthday cake and ice cream.
Two thousand and one was a horrible year.
Of coarse, in that month we got the news.
We found out from the doctor our greatest fear.
His life, he was going to lose.
The cancer was growing deep down inside.
Nine months of treatment he took.
When he lost his hair, I remember he cried.
In the mirror, he didn’t want to look.
But I still thought, he was so handsome.
Hair just didn’t matter to me.
The hardest part was watching him succumb
to cancer, the deadliest disease.
Two thousand and three was the worst year of all.
Five days short of his fiftieth birthday,
On the eighth of the month the Lord came to call
and took my sweet husband away.
<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>
So now maybe you can understand.
Maybe it doesn’t seem so dumb,
when I take you by the hand and ask you,
“September, please don’t come.”
Copyright © Cheryl Ann Ross | Year Posted 2006
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