Happy Birthday

With accustomed familiarity,
(A warm blade in melting butter)
It sauntered in,
The answer to a why:
This September, too kind, found I.
(After months, my muse was not shy)

Autumn breeze
O autumn breeze...
Pity me this september.
(Lo, she hides in that tree's hollow)
Drying trees
O drying trees...
Hearken, I tell your story.
(Sigh, they avert their teary eyes)

By the setting sun on yonder wall,
A lone bent shadow is cast.
My pores dont sweat, they bleed,
Hushed whispers of my smiling past.

Mid-September was important; is.
But where once we laughed; I strain to weep.
(Do you too - bleary-eyed - awake, lie?)
Long once, for 12 chimes, we waited; I long to wait.
(In deafening dark, pray whisper in my ear,
do u too count the ticks till late?)

In silence, solitude, desertion,
Cold fear of coming morrows
- do you too, heart-cleft, aching, hum:
'I stand alone among ten thousand sorrows.'