Aerial slaves and their heavy lifting,
High in the sky from summer’s drifting,
Tired from the weight of the midday sun,
Upon their backs since time begun,
Drift into September with their spirits down,
Hoisting the sun much closer to the ground.
 
As Mother Earth pleads, “Don’t let it fall,”
They heed her advice and give it their all.
With all their strength they search and find
Their energy renewed and strength combined.
They hoist it up again in time for spring,
When the meadows surely need
The warmth they bring.

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