September's cool nights and warm days tease and court our sentiments.
In September dusk, magic beckons us to taste her autumn fruit yet still the warm afternoon holds us faithful to the high summer's waning song.
Autumn in September is subtle and everywhere, calling us forward. But forward toward what? What misty memories await us just around the bend?
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Let it play, indeed, I think you wrote this with a magic pen! !
I wish I had written this That's the only thing I can say It swept me away Full marks Edmund
edmund, years ago i started a poem which began autumn used to tell a sad tale a poem i have yet to finish, a poem which explores feelings you do in this poem. for me spring and fall are the prime seasons for poetry. perhaps g.m. hopkins felt this as well, which in part at least caused him to write spring and fall to a young child. do you know it? for me i've had a productive spring for poem writing. one which parallels some of what you've written here is titled semi-retired in early spring. all the best to you. gk