My cat listens as the crickets trigger nightfall—
stretching a lulling sound across the landscape
in harmonious unison. The air is damp and dewy
—fresh and alive from a 2-day rain shower.
I count wants on pennies and needs on dimes.
Toward the hills, or toward the fields,
my future once was held in the heart of a man;
How silly!
s./j. goldner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/septemberish-eve/
