six golden
leaves
fell at dusk
- twirling
Spring came too late and left too soon
my unused heart bore the brunt
of summer's cruelties
and worked at working
and lied about living...
unless resignation counts for aught more than
measuring the distance
from autumn to autumn
still, it's a fair arrival when
that august September strolls into
the South with mysterious baggage
like some dowager Aunt she assures
that there is plenty of time to unpack
Impatient yet polite, I must allow
September to settle in
as I await the cooler delights
and golden treasures I'm certain
are kept there, behind her back