The wind, it whistles through the trees
Staccato bristling in the breeze
The air is crisp, its clean and clear
Sounds of autumn fall on the ear.
The Ides of March have come and gone
And Labor Day has since moved on
Ere long it will be Halloween
With other days squeezed in between.
All lives serve seasons in their turn
Each with some lesson we need learn
Our victories may have no date
Sometimes we simply have to wait !
Claire V. Bogdanos 