September Falls
Serene, the crisp of apple cider days
Each morning lightly misted. Its mystique
Perhaps a guise to hide from eyes the ways
The pink hydrangeas rusted; chic to meek.
Enticed, the chill does bring a woolen feel,
Matured, the sun grows old by afternoon.
Below persimmon skies of bonfire zeal
Embraced in sweaters neath the moon, we swoon.
Relinquish Virgo and the marigold
For Libra sparkles in the sapphire night.
As western winds turn cool and blue-jay-bold,
Let’s reminisce love sonnets we did write.
Like grapes on vines, we’ve ripened into wine,
September lips, your champagne kiss on mine.
|