You gave me lungs
and songs to sing. September’s frost
has kissed the pumpkin; night air
wears a hint of chill.
Soul to soul
we spent the currency of Spring,
Now maples wear their glory’s flame;
too soon the brilliant blaze is done.
I hear the gone sound
of a thousand silver wings;
fireflies, dragon flies,
I watch the sky
with just a tiny twinge,
who could mourn
such a splendid season?