As September closes
The nights are drawing in
The trees are no longer fresh
And the colours are fading
There is a sense of imminent decay
But the autumn moons are quite splendid
White cream and low on the horizons
This year the winds are quite humid
Which is unusual but not that rare
Hurricanes far away in the tropics
Are dictating the fickle thoughts of the weather
The moods of the summer can still be touched
As can the sour dreams of the dour brittle months