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September
by Ken HarnischSeptember whistles in the darkness
No more a siren than dreary, stifling August
But perhaps less tawdry, and more inclined
To wear her skirts looser on the thigh
And her heart perched upon her sleeve
In full obedience to the change
And she does speak in whispers
Of October, knowing how in love
I am with her, and how easy it is to turn me,
With mere words, into a serf
Who will do her bidding for a month
Till my true love decides
It is time to come on home 08/30/2007 Posted on 08/30/2007
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
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