Suddenly, September arrives
With the fanfare of zigzag lightening
And drum-rolling thunder.
Galloping up from the south,
September reigns over high desert plains.
September shouts,"I'm no romantic August moon;
I'm no leaf-fluttering summer breeze, no clear-sky Milky Way!"
September is the harvester, riding in on a thundering steed,
Hooves throwing up rolling plumes of dust,
Reigning over high desert plains.
September supposes that flames in the timber are surprised.
Determined they won't forget her, she plays the hero,
Pulling heavy-laden stagecoach clouds over mountain passes,
and September rains over flame-licked moraine.
September is sister to the Sea,
sometimes choosing to reign calamity.
She suggests you give up,
Hand over your gold.
Simply to make the encounter memorable,
September rains. . . unbridled. . . over high desert plains.