September's Garden
Golden days breezing,
filtered sunlight streaming through the trees;
the Wind scurries past
like Alice's White Rabbit ~
Late, so late, for a very important date ~
Leaves, browned and tired,
drift down executing their last dance;
Summer's flowers beg,
like last year's sad debutants ~
Pick me, pick me, I am still young, and lovely ~
Through my old garden
I rake, poking about here and there;
crisp'd air, an omen,
Winter's yearly Messenger ~
Hark ye, hark, Persephone abideth below ~
Whence my loveliness?
Shall my dance breathe out frosted, aching;
old bone, joints, muscles,
like Spring's forlorn memory?
Forget not, forget me not, my Entity endures, strong and true.
© ACG
17 September 2006
~ for my father
