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