A September’s Plea
To the northern skies, an anxious calling
From the blistered earth, the crusty soil,
Scorched by the rays of the sun,
A plea of mercy from the withered roses,
To the keeper of the pilfered chilly nights,
The one who stole autumn’s heart
And locked it in a cast iron vault,
“Find the place in your heart where
Your conscience still has a hold on you.
Have mercy upon us from thy pillaging.
Please return our rightful possessions,
Our chilly nights that cool us off again
As we sail into the teeth of autumn,
The eve of cooler nights, thusly winter’s air.”
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