CXLVI: The Seven Days of September: i

The light is different now. It wanes, not burns.

Though still it scorches, something in it fades.

It knows its time is short, and yet it yearns

to tell us of the Sun’s unyielding ways.

It sorrows. Like it never meant to harm.

It eases up in evenings. Hails the Moon.

It takes upon itself a quiet charm,

that dabs its fury down as like a wound.

Before the month is o’er it will be Fall.

The trees will change their humors once again.

But not just yet. The Summer’s hit its wall,

but wants repentance before the amen.

September cannot help her slowing heat

but she will do her best to make it sweet.