September Prose

If I were blitheful, goodness knows

How I would write September prose.

Ironic how I’d have a case

If that, which bothers, I could face

With treaties, in the place of blows;

Then I could write September prose.

The shadow, left of love, is hate,

And tragedy solaces fate.

“Why?” I ask, but no one knows;

I long to write September prose.

The sparrows know—look how they sing!

Oh, to ask them anything!

September prose I long to write,

Though I find my mind is quite a fright.

Poetic verse entraps me now;

It’s awful—sparrows, tell me how

Escape can ever come my way,

I'll wait a night and dreary day

For an answer no one knows;

I long to write September prose!