September
At her loom,
September sits.
A masterpiece in the making —
weaving in and out and through
careful, steady,
rhythmic,
the beginning of the end
Back and forth, back and forth
in and out and through
At her old, withered loom,
September sits.
She is an exhale, a dying wish
A sweet decay
September shines brightest before her funeral,
Leaves dressing up for their deaths
succumbing to a yellow, orange, maroon
quilt of fallen leaves
She pulls this woven quilt up to her chin,
Holding onto the warmth as long as she can
We can only hope,
like September,
we will be our most colorful
before we die
Thanks for reading,
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I LOVE this, Kimber! You gave such a gift. Thanks for sharing! ❣️
My favorite of your poems so far! So lovely!!