Evening Bus Home

August is May’s bewitching sister
She comes in a bloom,
And leaves with much to be desired…

She arrives with new beginnings
And sets with many a endings
As warm things and cold dreams cast a shadow over the sun

September silently unfolds its curls
In her crisp calm she creeps up on the year
With brown tints and falling leaves
On a chilly morning when sky is all but clear..

Melancholy so bitter sweet
Engulfs the air
As I wait for my evening bus home
Imagining the hues of winter splattered over this city’s hollow stare

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