THE ROSE OF LATE SEPTEMBER

[MIRIAM JACOB]

The Rose of Late September

The earth's axis tips slowly
Bringing the thinning light of this season
Autumn glows with its fervent display
All about the richness pervades
Full harvest abounds
Of fields and gardeners alike
The satisfaction of labours
Now reaped in this hour
Of days filled with colour
Breezes sounding like
Paper butterflies
Nestled in golden and burnt
Foliage
Glory
All around
Nature swirls upon the ground...
It is delightful
Yet fullness indicates
An ending
And soon the change will be
Bleak...
For the sleep of snow and ice must arrive
And it shall be deep
In this glorious passing
Is an unseemly sight
Bringing a quickened delight
To the eyes
It is a single rose
Red, large, in full bloom,
Smiling boldly amidst its strange
Surroundings...
For it is the rose of summer
But she knows it is fall
For her mates on the thorntree
Have fallen and only their fruit
Remains, ready to be harvested
Used for tea that delights
In the cold winter's nights
She is bold and her mission
Is to hold out the dream
That her memory will usher in
The certain seasons to follow
Those of spring, summer
Hope,
Now and Glory!
She just asks you to smile
Back at her lingering beauty...
Recall the blessing
Of the summer now past
And ignore the long shadows
This season may cast


© IRIS WOYTOWICH