October, with its repertoire complete,

will dull the sky into a purple haze,

subdue the bees where clover blooms are sweet,

then put an end to summer’s idle ways.

All creatures grow accustomed to a few

old, bygone songs of August. Every tree

sheds rustic tears. Each leaf, adorned with dew,

will soon evolve into a memory.

October speaks—the rose is stored away,

wild geese, propelled into a higher zone.

The hopeful robin—it can never stay.

The grass must die. The list goes on and on,

fulfilled at last when winds of winter blow

and leave the face of autumn white with snow.

Published on November 1st, 2022