In September Summer sighs
As Autumn woos him to her breast;
His head he lies upon her thighs
From burning labors here to rest.
She whispers tales of longing,
Of lands way up above;
He soon forgets his toil
And looks at her in love.
She wraps her wispy fingers
About his beady brow,
And rubs his temples gently-
He is sleeping now.
With breezy breath she blows away
Hot storms and clouds of yesterday.
Blank and full and lightest blue,
The sky now glows with softer hue.
And from his sweaty head she slips
The golden crown he boasts,
And Queens herself the ruler
Of all of Summer’s ghosts.
-by S. Knox White.
