September

 

September is a stallion

With a flowing, tawny, mane

Who has never known a bridle,

Nor a rider, nor a reign;

A steed of bronze and amber

Whose bright hoofs strike the ground

With a sharp staccato rhythm

And an icy, ringing sound.

September is a mustang

From wild, untrammeled skies

Who gallops down the earthways

With wild enchanted eyes.

~~~

Virginia Moran Evans

 

I hope you enjoy this poem like I do. 

It’s one of my favorite metaphors for the month of September!

Jane Signature - Page 001

 

Pin on PinterestShare on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone