September Song

grasses

What is September

but that elusive melody

A song you have determined

shall be rendered

in E minor

(and nothing but E minor)

for these are chords

chased by shadows

evocative as gossamer mists

when you hear the loons cry

in ghostly twilight

or the geese begin to form their

airborne geometry

the mournful cellos

must call out answer

to the dark oboes

in nothing but E minor

yet–strange thing!

wild changeling music resolves itself

with quiet defiance

into a sprightly B

what, this? all major, all light

as birds a-twitter

amongst rustling leaves

sweet as chilly mornings

that melt for you

into warm summer days

and years of tomorrows

float past your gaze

bundled baby seeds

carrying the future

in buoyant puffs of cloud

for that is the nature

that is the sweet refrain

of September