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!

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