Crumbs

September:
Crumbs from last years fill,
have dwelt in pockets for so long,

The rains have swept the colours to bleed
summer can last only in a lyrical song
and the seasons closing to the season frail
and the sun is dying in the pale,
the night has not still
crept of a chill,
my days are bearable in autumn's gust,
the riviera of leaves floods the dust.
last September took away so much
this September I faintly believe in,
for the taking away led to grieving
though the end of the month brought,
a cold frosted numbness, a plethora of thoughts
tilling the insides when nothing would grow
all would wilt and none to sow,
how much have since the soils recovered
and the groves of spring lament uncovered.
the fruit of pain that dwells in the heart,
is an un-cautioned leap with fears apart.
and boldly did we step in December,
my numbness and my love of the end September,
swiftly did we bring in spring
February has its own musings.
but I will dwell in September,
if nothing is to last forever,
for there is hope without the spring's burst
and despair without the winter's thrust
and I live in both.
hope and despair
choosing each from time to time.
My own subdued, my own sublime.

Crumbs from the last year,
I throw to the birds.