October

By John I. Blair

In late October
Brown leaves drifting down
Put a frown upon my face.

Summer’s gone
And will not come again
Until next year.

No more midday heat
To soothe my aching bones
And bask my skin.

No more blazing sun
To purify the world
And remind us where we live.

It’s a time to think of endings,
Melancholy thoughts,
Meditations.

But so long as trees bear seeds
That drop in autumn
To propagate their kind

It will also be a time
Of beginnings,
A time of hope.

©2017 John I. Blair, 10/2/2017