September

[Lavenderblue2]

September

By Helen Hunt Jackson


The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian’s bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes’ sweet odours rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer’s best of weather
And autumn’s best of cheer.

But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.

‘Tis a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.


We can but dream... LB :)

[Kenn]

Now the rowan droops with weight of berry,
The heather in shades of pink to sherry,
The bracken puts on it's coat of rust,
Underfoot the leaves make a drifting must.

In honking skeins the geese arrive.
The wind now rising starts to drive
The clouds from the cold northwest,
Soon summer will be at it's rest.

The air takes on a sharper edge,
Turns to brown the marram and the sedge.
It's time for the seals to haul out from the sea,
Their pups a wondrous sight to see.

Soon Bewicks, Hoopers from The Arctic waste
Will arrive in glorious .snow white haste,
Fieldfares,redwings in their flocks large and small.
Migrants that will all enthrall.

So as Caithness into winter slips.
Feasts the birds upon the wild rose hips.
And feasts my eyes upon the sights.
That will brighten up the winter nights.