How diff'rent October--whose energy is dark,
Writing its change in stricken leaves of red,
In gusts, grey clouds' lines, blue sky (intense),
the
sense
Of urgency spurring actions. If Spring's bright
sparks
Are glints of morning sun on wavelets thrown,
Autumn is shadows cloak'd in a brilliance; haste
Measuring acts with sinews; time's fleeting days'
Speaking commands of frost from bright Danger's
zone...
October can lull; but past its summer cloak,
One spies in outline (ever) the sword, the knife,
The dagger of frost-to-come; that's why all lives
Quicken their pace at dark October's name.
All Hallows' Eve comes on in that month too.
Thunders of Winter groan (past a cloaking sky),
When fever-stars blaze, serving a feral Moon...
...by Robert David Michael Cerello.
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