Whispery winds blow from far away,
shrieking like alley cats in heat.
Signals the valley that Labor Day;
the end of summer does entreat.
Mother Nature compels the gale
to rustle leaves and raise the waves.
So, year after year, without fail;
seasons turn like willing slaves.
And who then is the master in
this episodic season change?
Shall we rely on the past to win
this contest, now that seems so strange?
The future is swallowed
by what came before.
The present seems hollow
like a cheaply made door.
This door opens to what will come;
opened by a steady breeze
Thus revealing the total sum,
resulting from a Godly sneeze.
Winds telegraph summerís end;
heaven sent by a blast from God.
And much like the riverís bend;
sailing may turn from smooth to hard.