She keeps score
on a breezy day of changing moods
versus the mending heart of lost chances,
She is a cold start on a scheduled day
as to not disappoint,
She’s the bruised clouds
from releasing everything she had,
She’s no less than game day yellow mustard on a dog
and no more than the steeping sun in a golden tea
She’s bountiful, reaping her rewards
taking a sharp turn towards renewal,
September, she’s sweet