On this first September morn

I like September’s style

and the way she saunters in

with her optimistic sunshine

and I-Knew-You’d-Like-Me grin.

I never set a table

when I hear she’s stopping by

since I’m clinging hard to summer —

I don’t want to say good-bye.

But September’s always patient

with my inhospitality.

She’s shows up promptly anyway

with kind sagacity.

I roll my eyes a little

at her pumpkin spice display,

but she laughs away my smugness

and she loves me anyway.

Every year she brings me

so much more than I deserve

with the harvest that she offers

as a bountiful hors d’oeurve.

She wears her beauty regally.

The crimson, mauve and gold

come naturally to this month.

She’s a wonder to behold.

So here’s to summer’s swan song

and to autumn being born.

It all feels like a blessing

on this first September morn.