Sep 16, 2025
September Crickets are making The merriest din, All the fields waking With shrill violin.
Now all the swallows Debate when to go; In the valleys and hollows The mists are like snow.
Dahlia are glowing In purple and red Where once were growing Pale roses instead.
Piled up leaves smoulder, All hazy the noon, Nights have grown colder, The frost will some soon.
Early lamps burning, So soon the night falls, Leaves, crimson turning, Make bright the stone walls.
Summer recalling At turn of the year, Fruit will be falling, September is here. by Edward Bliss Reed
