September Front Poem by Dennis Lange

The first cold front (like Christmas comes)
Arrives with greatest flair,
Anticipated (roll of drums!)
For seasons of the air.

All Texas sat, on Santa's knee,
Throughout the month before,
And with a single earnest plea,
Did o'er and o'er implore

For just one gift from old Saint Nick,
One gift, and that is all;
As soon as possible, a quick
Sign of impending Fall.

It was the fourth our present came,
Delivered by the wind,
That stiffly blew with stubborn aim
From north, to bring an end

To marching hundreds on the scale,
An army straight from hell,
That licked and left an empty pail
Of Texas lake and well.

We wake to mornings crisp and cool
With smiles like Cheshire cat,
More gladly keep the golden rule,
More jaunty tilt the hat.

We celebrate, exult, and still
Our disappointment hide -
The colors of our gift-wrapped chill
Were missing, far and wide.

The radar blank, a baby's slate,
No green or yellow hue;
No line of rain across the state
As front came marching through.

And so we live, in drought - no rain.
But break in summer heat,
Takes some of pain. Some aches remain -
Our lives are bittersweet.