Ode To September

As September succumbs, October begins to accost
Mother Nature as she weeps for her fine greenery;
Her tears, once sweet dew, will soon turn to frost
And Her garden will be one of cold white scenery.

Pity the fruits of Her work, pine for all the flowers;
Remember birds serenading days that were sunny
While nestled in trees nurtured by gentle showers
O'er the fields of nectar that bees made into honey.

Cool breezes caress the leaves as they are falling,
Undressing the trees, save those that are evergreen.
The birds, now a-wing, to answer a silent calling,
Are forsaking Her for warmer climes as yet unseen.

She dries a tear which produces one more rainbow
To assure Her children with a bright colorful smile,
That the tapestry of Her art might change and glow,
But She'll be still working Her magic all the while.

She spreads Her arms pouring love from Her breast;
She bids adieu to that season ending in September,
And a Mother's lips kiss all the faces of those at rest
As if to say "I won't forget you, I'll always remember.

(An original poem by Mike Ashley, 9/30/06)

I waxed poetic today when it dawned upon me that the summer is really over. Where has all the time gone? October means bare trees and cooler days. It means baseball playoffs and football in its infancy. It means raking. It means stowing summer clothes in favor of warmer ones. It means cornstalks and Halloween, and shorter days and longer nights. I shudder to think that winter isn't far behind.

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