Come September, come

Poor little neglected blog.

I've been a poor mama to you.

I felt you were big and strong enough to leave you

alone while I worked my fingers to the bone.

When I came home

at night,

 weary and with a little  star dust in my hair

it was enough to look in on you and  leave.

My dreams have been taking me to Italy

where the lake is,

and the little boats that will

sail across it taking us to towns with pastel coloured houses

and pretty names.

Shall we sit under the stars

and listen to Melody Gardot

and dream that all days could be like these?

Come September,
come.