The Shofar ? a poem

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September is here
And the beat of the bleat
Causes a shudder in my soul

Look into yourself, it stutters
And throw out the clutter
That mutters, mutters, mutters,
Nit natters, and gnaws ..
Of things no matter and nought

Think of the sweet
And the lush of the apples with honey
Play on round and wholeness
Rather than the sharp and incisive

Take the imperfection and chaos
Around and in you
And round them into harmony and Oneness
On the day of At Onement and forward