September

September will come and September will go, She will stay both in Paris and Rome, She will race through the meadows of Cypress and Kansas, Wherever she goes, she calls home. Each village in Africa readies itself, Each castle in Scotland aware, September is spilling her heady perfume And tinting her summery hair. She's calling the long days to come home at last, She's busy on apples and leaves. She reaches up tall as the twilit nights fall And only the child in us grieves. September will come and September will go And, as autumn begins, summer's over. Then, just when you think you at last understand her, She suddenly turns to October.