It must have been late September,
Around the time when the first leaves
Begin to really change.
When grown men
And children alike
Stop and marvel at the color,
Forgetting just for one moment the task at hand.
(In September this is acceptable.)
Yes, it must have been September,
And it certainly must have been love—
Not the impatient love of youth
But a quiet love, comfortable with silence—
These served as the creative muse.
I see a man standing at the water's edge
Devising in his mind a water craft
Impossible to steer,
Moving at inefficient speeds,
Easily blown off course by the wind,
Maximizing his time on the water.
Yes, it must have been September,
And it certainly must have been love.
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