It is September and you mark the decline of the sun
Behind the long rows of buildings and listless trees.
From the train its decline is noticeable in arid wastes
That have straggling shepherds and their grazing sheep.
The sun does not envelop their bodies in silhouettes.
The orange of light shall wait at the mountain’s mouth
Beyond the spartan colors of the lake, less its shimmer
As clouds pass without event, giving rain a sabbatical.
The decline will of course be followed by an exciting fall.