SEPTEMBER

September morn so damp and chill
blanketed by mist, far hill,
blue sky lined by jet plane tracks
to the day, drying leaves, have turned their backs,
upon the blue jays taunting call
that boldly jeers oncoming Fall.

The garden plants all fading, spent
their fruits on shelves and freezer sent,
await their gleaning to fulfill
their destiny on compost hill,
in the hope that in the Spring
their remains, new life will bring.

Hearts are saddened by the waning
of Summer days their beauty paining,
soon to be but memories
full of fun, sweet reveries,
lead us into Autumn scenes aglow
with richness only God bestows.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Sept. 12, 1995