DTM (March 9,1957 / New York City)

Come September

Come now, September, faithful friend,
On whose pure, light air do I depend.
Extract the harvest, the wind from fields,
A cloak against winter, a bounty yields.

Take with you, July, its rumbling rains,
August’s glare, which parched the plains.
October will come to paint these leaves,
And draw deep the breath November heaves.

Too soon December comes to brood,
Where life and dying have come to feud.
But, you September whose soul’s the pure,
May your splendid countenance long endure.

Take me along where e’re you go,
Bestow those dreams Septembers know.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

Oh wow, what an absolutely stunning picture you offer up. The dreams of kings and queens could in no way give more splendor than these fine words. A nearly perfect poem... in my humble opinion. A scale of 10 does not do it justice.
I love this poem! The seasons with their human-like traits! Yes September is just enough relief, but not too much of anything to steal away hope and belief like the dead of winter can. Just Beautiful.
Beautiful, perfect, lovely: ,)