SEPTEMBER COMES AGAIN
September comes again:
Warmly at first, as my son David and I celebrate the forty years
Since he came into my life.
Then later the month cools,
Although round us trees still shoot, shrubs flower;
Even the first blowflies persist into their hungry nuisance.
This months four Mondays bring again renewal,
In each commuter cycle fresh weeks for those who love their work,
But more despair returned for those who hate it.
And between these extremes a wide spectrum,
Of passive feelings, many awaiting envelopes in mail-boxes,
Or seeking hope from Lotto systems, for their lives relief.
The weather, dry and windy, or my lack of skill,
Condemn survival for new plants I buy in hope
this time, this spring may be a start
For my imagined garden, but knowing in my heart
That three of every four will die while Im distracted,
Slipping by like cousins from my generation.
And still some shrubs persist in dogged bloom
Despite the pressures of the wind, and my neglect; each year
Renewing, even when my gardening days are over.
© Geoff Bolton. All electronic rights reserved