September.

Our Summer is fading with us, and kindly dissolves our beauty

While faraway lightning announces the Fall

But again we’ll be hearing its warming call

Before Winter would come, asking for us.

Now I only ask for

A little sunshine.

 

You skin was pale and tender once and your eyes able to love

Our little paper planes turned to dust

So long ago I just cannot recall

The sweetest smell of your warming kiss.

Now I only ask for

An innocent joy.

 

And even though I saw most of my dawns

Darkening behind, there’s a grace in the end:

The fruit ripens the most just before running to seed.

So I will only ask for

Your voice

Young as we were.

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