As September awakes with a gentle sigh,
The air grows crisp beneath the azure sky.
Leaves turn gold, in their final dance,
A fleeting beauty, nature’s romance.
Whispers of wind in the quiet grove,
Telling secrets of the months they rove.
Shadows stretch as the days grow short,
With tales of summer they still consort.
The harvest moon casts its silvery glow,
On fields where the autumn breezes blow.
A tapestry woven of warmth and chill,
Time pauses, as the world stands still.
In this serene September’s embrace,
We find solace in its gentle pace.
A prelude to winter’s looming call,
September whispers, enchanting all.