Listen to the wind cut the chant.
Softly the song lifts.
Smelling the faint scent of flowers on the wind.
October cinnamon fragrance.
Maybe that's my deal with cinnamon.
Write a letter and hand it to October.
The part that makes October re-pass September's desire to talk is called the maple leaf.
Fallen leaves he in the October season.
It had the color of an October sunset.
It wanders with the October wind.
May you live your days as a poem.
In the silence.
Listening to mortal silence.
Simple and sophisticated.
July in the field, August in the house, September in the house, October crickets under my bed.
The wind stops at the end of October.
The meet stays in the meet.
Over the farm as well as the white horses.
I get up.
On this rainy autumn day.
The past years come thick and fast.
When I saw the leaves start falling down the street and my first reaction was to shoot it to you, I knew I was screwed!
Hopefully this fall, even with no one to blow in the evening breeze with you, you'll be able to catch a glimpse of the sunset and bite into a roasted sweet potato on your own.