September...

September

 

This is a parting full of banners:

the blue of plum and apple's green.

The garden hoists the aster's scanners

and thousand mullins shine between.

 

This is a parting full of brasses,

of giving thanks, of peasant balls.

With cowbells chiming, from the grasses

the motley herds march to their stalls.

 

This is a parting full of fragrance,

of ancient smells again revealed:

the jams' and jellies' boiling cadence,

the roasting taters in the field.

 

This is a parting full of hustle,

of spits with chickens, steins with stout.

The giant swings to heaven bustle,

but may not prove enough devout.

 

The starlings start their fall migration

and gossamer floats in the winds.

A loud and silent separation:

the carousels are in rotation

and what seems gone again begins.*

 

*Erich Kästner

 

Done