In September

Grady McMurtry

30 September 1944

The rains come down; the chalk grey mud of Gaul

Is foamed beneath the clash of treading tanks

And soldiers curse.

I used to like the Fall

And will again, I hope, stand on the banks

Of flooded streams made rich with Autumn rain,

A seasoned briar clenched between my teeth,

And breathe the stinging frost wind.

Once again

Stride down the tree lined byways where the heath

Has mingled scent of sage with fern and pine

To savor there the breath of growing things

Distilled in ice-chill silence.

This is mine!

This time of year when airborne ice makes wings

Around the bacchic moon, when sun and tree

Thrall the wooded land with Summer’s ember.

When these campaigns are but a memory

And I am home again. In September.

[11]