The September Rain

Under the temples of our heads
Vision of chairs, desks and beds
Falling from the September sky
Escaping  areroplane's fiery lungs cry

No need possessing a weatherman skills
To find out hot and dust precipitation kills
The storm has gone, new turf appears
Weeping every morning with red tears

Time to mow the lawn around to see
Grass is still growing under The Big Apple tree
Watch two burnt branches running in blossom race
Hope the fruits of remembrance will ripen with good grace