September

The cold face of the city, 
where the summer lost. 
Maybe I hid, the clown's pockets. 
September, singing in the rain drops again, 
and nature paints a landscape, 
when the frost during the night ride 
over fields and plains. 
So small is a man, 
and photographs deposit he 
Now a friend of the world. 
Works of art huge 
create a camera, and he did. 
September arrived with us 
again, and just grab a friend's hand.