Late SeptemberWhen spinney wears a misty shawl
Where colours blaze before they fall.
The sun performs just one last dance
Amid the trees for lovers glance.
Sweet scented refuge from Eden born
As memory thumbs through pages torn.
Where Autumn hue and poetry rhymed.
Grandmother made jam,
Grandfather clock chimed.
We ploughed the field and scattered,
Help to the needy hand.
On Sunday sang songs out of tune
Thanked God for the fertile land.
Late September I stand under harvest moon
The equinox has come too soon.
The fire of youth, age quenched with tears
Now candlelight of halcyon years.
Once seeds of summer, we are Autumn's ember.
Just hold my hand this late September,.