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The month of September

Is the month I remember

Of the honeysuckle aroma so sweet

Farmers harvesting their wheat,

The month of September

Is the month I remember

When shorter days are to come

Darkness starves the early morning sun,

We pluck the apples from the trees

We prepare for our Xmas cider feast,

The month of September

Is the month I remember

No perspiration falling now

No hot sun,hitting our brow,

I glance at the beautiful landscape

It is one that God could only create

Gillian Sims




September is a month

When nature is slowing down

It is the onset of autumn

When the leaves are turning brown


Birds start their migration

In flocks of every kind

A majestic synchronization

A sight that will blow you mind


The hedgerows in all their glory

With spectacles of colour so bright

All the days getting shorter

As the days give into night


The squirrels scurrying around

Rummaging through the leaves

Collecting building material

For their nests up in the trees


The nights become colder

The frost will appear on the ground

Nature starts to go to sleep

Leaves fall silently without a sound


The harvest all been gathered in

The farmers ploughing their field

Sowing all their winter seed

For next years harvest yield


Autumn prepares for the winter

That will freeze all within

Keeping nature cosy and warm

Until the onset of spring

Malcolm Bradshaw

What does September mean to you?

Let us know

Somewhere along the highway
Lies a field of amber durum wheat
Where footsteps of ghosts long past
Tread among its tall and slender stalks

Visions unlock scattered memories
Of a holiday in the countryside
Where within the ardor of autumn
Lay noonday siestas and midday walks

No photographs, no diaries
Just faded memory at its best
Connects the past with the present
As I ponder to still remember

Ripples of grain ebb like the ocean
When dew adorns the tips of the spikes
While golden wheat is set against
Morning azures of September

Somewhere along the highway
I lean my head out the window
Storing pictures in my mind
As I am touched by misty rain

The tall, slender stalks of durum wheat
Sway within the mist
Evoking the true American icon
“Amber waves of grain”


The miracles of September bring about harvest time, shorter days, falling leaves,

changing landscapes and so much more. 

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