CLXXII and CLXXIII

The Seven Days of September: iv and v

See, now, the morning chill has reached the ground,

you know the moment that your heels alight.

And nowhere close can shoes or socks be found,

for Summer’s taught us not to fear the night.

But all that’s over now, September says.

“I leave the heat to linger for awhile,

but call the Fall, and cloud and wind obeys,

and reckons in my cool September style.”

This is the morning that the month doth bring;

and light that once was brilliant is late.

Do all the birds now louder, prouder sing?

Now that they have so much less time to wait?

But go, we go into the morning air,

and hope to find a warmer wind out there.

~~~

Now now, that hope we had for some warm wind

is met in such a graceful kind of way.

Is that why Fall, despite its warmth’s rescind,

reminds us all that hope, too, likes to play?

For out we go, out into Autumn air,

which hath but memories of Summer Sun,

and find we something much like warmth out there,

but merely in the way Fall brings her fun.

It not the kind of warmth Winter play brings,

for that’s but ice in every shape and form.

But hearthy Fall, though cool, yet emberous sings,

and keeps, not skin, but noses and hearts warm.

And that is fae September at her work,

who, onward, smiles with her somber smirk.