Wood-smoke spiraling; gray curls quickly drenched
Fog pressing weightless; yet like a cloud clenched
‘cross earth’s bleak dolor and colorless hues
November murmurs its imminent dues
Time tiptoes over this waning threshold
Of sweet October and gray stealing gold
Russet minstrels croon a last lullaby
Summer and winter sleep ‘neath the same sky
Coffins and cradles in earth’s womb enmesh
Juxtaposed; gardens of timber and flesh
Relentless rivers of ‘missing you’ rush
Rampant and silent through Time’s underbrush
Foothold of faith rivals festering fear
October shivers in dusk’s deep’ning sphere
Fantasy flounders; for no Brigadoon
Rises to rescue or rift Time’s swift swoon
There are no shadows; for the moon is dark
And there are no lovers tonight in the park
© Janet Martin
I"m sorry to see October end.
ReplyDeleteAnd I liked the ending...no lovers in the park for a while.
=)
It seems like October is the official ending to autumn, not December. Although we have had a few nice 'summery' Novembers here in the past few year so it might not be too bad!
ReplyDelete