GIVE ME SEPTEMBER

Some folk I know prefer the spring .
Others like it when song birds sing.
Some look at the winter glee.
But give me September.
Then gone is every insect pest,
Moskitos, mints and all the rest.
Those days I love the best,
But, give me September.
I noted one day on a gravel way ,
A sample of grit that was rare,
A bold seedling pine,
With needles so fine ,
It's life span strived to be there.
And the Parry Osprey on it south leading wings ,
Breast the air in tooting and talking .
It's affairs worked hard all summer long.
The ant like the bee ,
In industry ,
Does labour the whole summer long .
With respect sincere and ,
The winter severe ,
It's life span, too ,
It strives to prolong.
In this life of woe every thing likes to hang on,
And those healed dear ,
While passing down here,
You're not forgotten soon after your gone.
VJM/Nina Se'ke'j (Spirit of the White Wolf)