Author Information
September.
Breath soft air, brier sweet
brings petal fall
from age blessed flowers.
Soft washed sun
sweeps down the hours,
guild's the paint-box leaves.
Chestnut, hazel, oak shall call;
for harvest's hand
does fruitful grow.
Gather now to bind and bale,
and glean the fields
to breaded sheaves.
Wane's the sun across the vale
brings time for birds
to dance the plough;
as man now tills
his bounteous land.
