Fay Slimm.

Abundance.

 

 

Abundance.

 

September,
season of burgeoning juice, lusty-tongued weeks
fermenting with beauty and ready your fat ripe fountain
of sun-seared tawny crops drop tall harvest
heads of ears encrusted with fruit.

September,
spreader of russet through emerald lushness yet
positioned to walk not run sews knots in dash, dawdles
as dawn, webbed in gilt gossamer, stops swell  
of hedge-berries by viscous dew.

September,
autumnal minnion paints mellow between blaze
of finished heat, sheds quiet on growth\'s gaudy face and      
laced with change dampens summer\'s great
need for chasing high-racing rules.

September,
begins to bulge, bellies as eighth-month becomes
nine, nudges toward deflation of plenty, sheds longer
nights over sated abundance and brings
an end to frenetic maturing.

September,
as bounty\'s rich voice allows autumn\'s contralto
time to rehearse it waits in reaped wings, stored seed
and dried wealth to pay somnolent dividends
before winter\'s cold-solo re-tunes.