September holds a sacred dream,
A dream that one could never see.
The siren's song lights up the surrounding,
and attracts all elements standing among it.
At the nocturnal hour, the moon shines bright,
It shines big and bright then paralyzes with its might.
September's dream conjure up a haze,
which by the way turns light purplish
Says the name of the forever, it stays that way.

There's nothing like that eucalyptic scent,
Floating in the midst of September's mist.
That purple haze creates a fusion,
combining all fumes that form a solution.
The essence of September is all around,
and the extract of its season is on the ground.
Waterfalls crash in the everglades,
Trapped souls emancipating since the last brutal
raids.

What a journey that a distant dream would bring,
Nothing's more magical than September's own rains.
With its purple gleaming bands pounding the canopy,
there is plenty of beauty left to gain.
The equinox falls upon the earth,
spiritually casting down an beautiful rebirth.
This dream that September dearly hold,
will never be shown but only told.

 
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