deepundergroundpoetry.com

September Now

September now.
And soon the leaves of trees
in Northern realms
shall alchemy themselves
to harvest hues.
Gold will splay in some.
Amber, umber, russet, too.
Others will become alive,
if only momentarily,
within a shade of red
that speaks,
when spiraling to earth,
of runnelled blood
that’s shed
in hushed atonement
for the Summer’s death
and slowly darkening end.
Written by Baldwin
Published
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