September lingers in the arms of
Even as a certain crispness calls.
Perhaps some fear she's not yet conscious of
Takes messages as she slows down and stalls,
Embracing joys that soon must be entombed.
More frequently, she starts to feel marooned.
Business bustles busily with tasks,
Each answering more questions than it asks,
Reminding her how life can be consumed.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon