Like every day it comes and goes
A number on a page
Of September moon
The sixth day just like my great-grandmother
Except she she was in 1920
I came on Labor Day
My mother says she took the meaning seriously
But that was many years ago today
Three, six, nine
I've got them in spades
My poker face hides the smile that never fades
Born in dying heat of Autumn blues
Refreshing cool and end of summer
Have always been my restful cue
Twenty-seven may it be a good year for you.