the sun bends down behind the tree
across the street
the framed art of a human hand
the manufactured flags of man
how quickly they retreat,
oh my sweet september,
as the summer drawn down
the pure magic spent on children’s time
the rise of the spent in the basking of souls
as all things, as all close-
so to another summer fades
behind the tree, bowing
across the way there
a wish to catch each ray,
close my eyes
catch the glow under lid
feel the warmth as long as been
and a smile
and a sigh
contentment in the passing
a few deep breaths to utter thanks
and then, I move on, that is the way of time.