September's Child

September's Child

September's skies are sapphire hue;
Blue gentians star the woods at morn
Near crystal pools in woodland aisles --
In this bright month a Queen was born.

No silver fanfare filled the air
As angel wings flashed round the child;
No crown was placed upon her head,
But at her halo, Heaven smiled.

October's trees wear rosaries
Of gold and scarlet, green and brown,
And as the west wind fingers them
The Ave-leaves drift slowly down.

May raises high her blossom-shrines
Where bird-choirs sing their wood-notes wild,
But both these months pay homage to
A blue-gowned queen -- September's child.