September:

Set a yellow rose
in your hair shining
lest, though our songs and
          summer shared
I should not know you.

O I remember    curls
and kisses    how you looked and laughing
yet the minutes and the miles have shown you dearer,
might they also not have
                    changed you:
only your eyes I’ll recognise.

The welcomes in your touch I would recall
the innocence that taught us we were friends
but in the momentry of meeting you
again    I’ll wonder if our summer was a song
                        if summer was a sone
only your eyes could
                                        ever
                    understand.

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