A September Song (Poetry)

(Acrostic Sonnet)

A sense that summer’s over haunts the trees
Soft sighs escape from every swaying bough
Each leaf grown more indifferent to the breeze
Passive in its sacrifice for now...
Too soon the act of letting go will come
Ending all that flutter when they drop
Mocked by a remote and feeble sun
Bullied by chill wind that dare not stop
Emptied of life’s promise — holding on
Rumour spreading wild along the vine
Saying that the season’s almost done
One and all are running out of time...
No one hears that whisper but the sky
Green to blue — faint echoes bid goodbye.