September, dearest of months, 
tell me if you know.
How come you no longer stretch like you used to?

Back along you spread out 
like jam,
offering heady memories of 
endless bounties amongst the hedgerows.
You gave us an eternity to 
gather them.

Nowadays September dearest, 
you have been shrunk somehow.
Your perfect berries constricted 
to a few precious days 
if we miss their moment 
the world will have to take a very long arc 
before we are given another chance 
to stain our lips and fingertips

September, would you stretch again? 
would you find a way to defy the contracting of your days?