October

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    I want to walk in the woods again

    When October comes to the hills,

    And bittersweet shines along the lane,

    And a woodpecker drums and drills

    On a dying tree. And sweet

    And plaintive I hear the trills

    Of a flock of roving chickadee.

    And all alone on the bare blue sky

    A hawk is a pasted silhouette.

    And a truant serpent, gliding by

    Slips o’er the path and through the wet

    Dank logs that steam. And the sun

    On the earth casts a warm vignette,

    Making last night’s frost but a dream.

    Here the warmth of summer lingers

    On the lonely hills and the stream,

    But the touch of icy fingers

    Cuts the air, and I seem

    To feel them in my heart. As the leaves

    Flash and gleam and fall

    So must we part.

    And the tan of summer lingers

    On your lovely face and brow.

    But the touch of autumn’s fingers

    Has flushed your cheek, and how

    I thrill at the blend of seasons

    That is in your face, and now

    I know this is the end.

    But we shall walk in the woods again

    When October comes to the hills,

    And you’ll pick bittersweet in the lane

    And hear the woodpecker at his drills

    And I shall see once more the seasons

    Blend in your face, and thrill

    To have you close to me.

    Bill Dowey