September
 
September is a month of change,
Most fickle in her ways,
With hints of things that are to come,
Yet still some blazing days.
 
I sit and watch the busy birds,
Prepare for flight they'll make,
Much like people packing,
While deciding what to take.
 
The cottonwood, out in the back,
Sheds now her yellow leaves,
They flutter down like tears that fall,
From eyes of one who grieves.
 
Overhead a chicken hawk
Floats, searching for next kill,
Rabbits, birds, my chicken flock,
Whatever is his will.
 
At night I'm often brought awake,
By sound of coyotes call,
One more sign of passing days,
Reminder that it's fall.
 
Bright warm days and cold crisp nights,
Together send a message,
Enjoy the days that lie ahead,
Rejoice with summer's passage.
 
(c)  2004  Loree (Mason) O'Neil

 
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