I wake to touch the September morning chill
The early dew glistens in the mornings hue; it softens the low mist that abounds
A fox scurries away after his night of slaughter
Whilst mushrooms make their early morning rounds, only to disappear before the dew dries

As the day takes over from the dawn
Crows proclaim their territory and squabble with the rooks
The last murmurs of the morning chorus end its melodious run
A field mouse hurries away and awaits to coming of the warming sun

This September morn sends a shiver down my spine, its beauty personified by its stillness
My breath, fogs the air like a puff of smoke that mingles with the early morning mist
Only to lose its authority to the surrounding break of day haze

Crunching sounds of each step echos on the frosty grass, leaving a first impression
The only clue that I had walked this way before
Soon many will follow to hide my trace, as in my life, my achievements are marred by those more worthy of recognition
September morn I cry out to you: Be my inspiration, and warm me with your promise of the day ahead

Too soon I will bewail your passing, to soon will Mother Nature cast her winter cloak
But I know you will return once again to thrill me with your splendour
I will awake once more to touch your morning chill