September at Last - Poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

September at Last

A dawn under clouds – September at last
No one longs for August, or misses it
The heat and humidity linger still
But the mythology of the calendar

Has drawn the summer’s metaphorical fangs
And grownups now anticipate cold fronts
Like children who know that Christmas will come
Although the season seems to be taking

Its own sweet time in bringing home its gifts
Of chilly mornings, and geese winging south