This is September and you mark the decline of the sun
Behind the long rows of buildings and listless trees.
From the train its decline is noticeable in arid wastes
That teem with straggling shepherds in grazing sheep.
The sun does not envelop their bodies in its silhouettes.
The orange of light shall wait at the mountain’s mouth
Beyond the spartan colors of the lake, less its shimmer
And clouds pass without event, giving rain a sabbatical.
The decline will surely be followed by an exciting fall.