Some folk I know prefer the spring .
Others like it when song birds sing.
Some look at the winter glee.
But give me September.
Then gone is every insect pest,
The mosquitoes , midges, and all the rest.
Those days I love the best.
But, give me September.
I noted one day on a gravel way ,
A sample of grit that was rare.
A bold seedling pine,
With needles so fine ,
Its life span striving to be there.
And the Parry Osprey on it south leading wings ,
Beats the air in tooting and talking .
Its affairs worked hard all summer long.
The ant like the bee ,
In industry ,
Does labor the whole summer long .
With respect sincere and ,
The winter severe ,
Its life span, too ,
It strives to prolong.
In this life of woe every thing likes to hang on.
And those healed dear ,
While passing down here,
You're not forgotten soon after your gone.
VJM/Ni'na Se'ke'j (Spirit of the White Wolf),
Pikto'l Sa'ke'j Miu's / Victor James Muise..
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