A Shakespearean Sonnet on the Cruel Month of September
The late summer rains carry leaden air,
Vapors stalk me and they for whom I care,
Misty humors from the west make dark clouds,
Perchance, I only dream while nature sounds,
Anon, cruel fate awakes my sleeping heart,
Unable, I am to know where to start,
Opaque mysteries roam freely by my bed,
While beads of desperation drench my head,
Cruel month of September, won’t you leave?
Your nights bring me such pain on each new eve,
Alas, poor time close the September door!
With your humid vapors gone ever more,
Leave now, my soul, in shreds of autumn peace,
Before I embrace a cold winter’s sleep.