September’s skies, a canvas wide,
With hues of gold and crimson tide,
Leaves whisper secrets to the breeze,
As summer’s warmth begins to cease.

The days grow short, the nights grow long,
September sings its final song,
A symphony of autumn’s grace,
In every leaf, a soft embrace.

The morning dew, a crystal lace,
On fields that spread a golden face,
The scent of earth, so rich and deep,
In September’s arms, dreams gently sleep.

With every dawn, a promise made,
As sunlight dances, shadows fade,
September’s whispers, soft and clear,
A time of change, a time so dear.