Inniswood in September

The forest still is rich, if not as green,
As flecks of gold and umber decorate
The canopy, and caterpillars crawl
Up grasses tipped with ochre. Byzantine
Brown-banded honeybees investigate
The beds of Black-eyed Susans. Pumpkins loll
Beneath their broad-leaved vines. I see the Fall

Arriving, and I feel the sun relent;
The year begins to make its slow descent
To Winter. When the air is light, breath comes
More easily. I smell chrysanthemums,
Their earthen blooms—like Eden’s early days—
Are soaking up the Summer’s final rays.
I wonder where my rays of Summer went.

Out by the bandstand, I can hear a drum
And earnest voices rising with guitars
Against the rhythm of the wind and thrum
Of the cicadas.Night falls and the stars
Reveal no hint of what this will become.
I trust these woods will bloom in May again.
I hope the music will be playing then.

—Daniel Jabe

Image by Sixflashphoto via Creative Commons.