I can smell October coming.
I can feel months of dry, chilling winds
and can see the creamy skies of peaches
hazed by the darkening of clouds
echoing the screeches
of the brown bristling leaves dwindling 'round.

The kids they play in it anyway,
and with no Summer to fuel their fun
they prey on what imagination they could weigh.
And I watch, eagerly yearning to rejoin in spirit
for the festivities is my remembrance
of a once intuitive child's play.