September's Hymn

September leans against the fading sun, a slow confession in the turning leaves. The air is damp with promises half-kept, yet softer than the sorrow it conceives. Love, like a lantern, flickers in the dusk, its glow a fragile bloom among the briars. It grows where summer’s laughter has been hushed, a secret hearth against the cold’s desires. Happiness stirs in quiet, fleeting forms a hand that lingers, a glance that almost sings. Yet sadness tilts the scale with gentle storms, reminding hearts of loss that autumn brings. Still, in the hush of fields grown gold and bare, your breath becomes the season’s saving prayer.