LET ME REMEMBER YOU

SEPTEMBER MIDNIGHT by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)  This was originally published in Poetry, March 1914. With Remembrance Day so close, it seems full of foreshadowing............

Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing.

Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,

Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples

The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence

Under a moon waning and worn, broken,

Tired with summer.

Let me Remember You, voices of little insects

Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters

Let me Remember, soon will the winter be on us,

Snow hushed and heavy.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,

While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,

As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,

Lest They Forget Them...........

Photographs 2020    "September Midnight" 1914 is in the public domain.