And it's yet another October
waiting impatiently for the rain.
there's no way out of these blues,
but at least there is a Hunter's Moon,
hanging full and low like a fruit of the
orchestrated night, listening to
the chirping of the night toads calling
to their toad lovers, staving off
the loneliness for awhile,
the mornings become eclectic,
a touch of chill followed by the
bout of heat, until day fades again
to night, for another round of
wine and a prayer for forgetfulness.
which is really nothing more than
an ode to a dying September,
and an open door to the chill of Winter.
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