and promises to leave behind
the crisp august summer days
lived bright beneath the glaring,
Soon, says September 1,
the cooler days will come
with the softer skies,
the trees more fashionable,
bearing new colors.
Then, just before the leaves tumble,
shed gold and red all a-rustle,
and the cicada’s buzz fades,
and pumpkins sprout on porches and steps,
the days of labor will be easier
in the cooler dark, teases September.
Yet, the near-Autumn sun rises
to the loud cry of defiant cicadas
singing it up, a hot burning chorus
raspy and piercing,
refusing to let the summer die
without a fight as the thermometer
shrieks out 95!
This isn’t what we had in mind.
No, not what we had in mind at all,
we think as we sip our pumpkin
spice latte, tall.
* It’s PoMo! To learn about PoMo (POetry MOnday), click here. What mood does the changing of the seasons evoke in you? Is Fall a favorite? Please share your thoughts and insights in the comments!
This poem is included in this collection: