A Song of Late October.
Upon the sun’s descending leave,
A hoot rings in October eve.
And out, against a lively breeze,
I venture through the fired trees.
Howls building from the south,
Issued from a hungry mouth,
Kindle daring mixed with fear:
The season of mystery is here.
Day by day, the rising tide
of color, cold, and fancy hide
anticipation for the night
of costume, candy, pumpkin light.
* * *
Howls fading from the north,
Old Man Winter plodding forth,
Trading chills for milder winds—
The season of thanks begins!
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