September
2009
September longs for respect. It laughs and cries, crawls but flies. In frantic states of confusion, delusion, illusion of summer, then spring. No, winter, the very next day. Carefree, as it blows a leaf or two from trees. Teases and pleases and protests. Then boughs under the weight of its own arrogance. Crumbles and whimpers in shades of grey.
August
July
June
May