September-Swindler

You toss Her tress with wind-song

You strum Her air-borne spheres

You tug Her hug of lowered sky

And break it into tears

You dazzle noon with kisses

You frazzle frond and flow’r

And by the hill you fill the rill

With remnants of Her hour

You thrum in thought and yonder

Upon the blue-skimmed slope

You thrill eye-cups with wonder

They spill in renewed Hope

You frame the day with longings

Too sacred to be tamed

Reminding us that Some Things

Remain ever unnamed

…while trees turn leaves to lamplight

Shedding joy’s haloed grief

You wean Her from Time's orbit

Into each drifting leaf

© Janet Martin

...the speckles in the photo below are leaves from the walnut trees.