September
This month alas, was when we met
Four hundred and forty two months ago
A month most commonly, often wet
Proactive tears for our latent sorrow
There in unusual morning brightness
You stood before the altar like a lamb
And in resplendent sacred sweetness
I heard your beauty sang of the great I AM
September clouds were white that day
September flowers in bloom as may
September joyed like bright kites away,
September love can, never, never stay
But the fruit of September stains still
The heart, despite the will, can remember
The trees dress gusting o'er the bent hill
And the heart brightly burning with love's sweet ember
O mistless memory, O sweet
Unfruiting dreams, friendship in shadows pines
For the nectar hope's sweet breasts secrete
For the prolific season's latent signs
To freeze, for age gold bowl no contentment
Yields, when limbs creak and bones seek shutters warm
And flesh failing sap lies impotent
Where the honey runs from the comb - trembling my arm
|