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SEPTEMBER
In September's gentle, golden hue,
The harvest season dawns, a dream come true,
Fields of plenty, ripe with morning dew,
Nature's bounty gathered, the farmer's due.

With scythe in hand, and sweat upon the brow,
The farmer toils beneath the sun's warm vow,
Rows of corn and wheat, in neat, straight plow,
In September's grace, they're reaped somehow.

Apples hang heavy on orchard trees,
Their sweetness carried by autumn's breeze,
The vineyards yield their finest, with ease,
In September's embrace, all worries cease.

The fruits of labor, both humble and grand,
Are gathered by the tireless, weathered hand,
In baskets and crates, they form a band,
In September's harvest, across the land.

From farm to table, a journey so sweet,
The harvest's reward, a glorious feat,
In September's abundance, we all shall meet,
To savor the flavors, a seasonal treat.

So in September's glow, let us give praise,
To the harvest's magic, in myriad ways,
For nature's abundance, in sunlight's blaze,
In September's embrace, our gratitude stays.
© DMN 2023