October left it’s calling card with leaves strewn about the yard.
Not so much a mess it seems as fragments of fall-ish dreams.
Swept up and raked and moved along the remaining grasses of the lawn.
Utterance of wind and sere, whisper come hither, come here.
Trees bared and then grey, matching skies of the day.
Longing goes on for summer now gone.
Melancholy it seems replaces soft summer dreams
As the longing goes on for the summer now gone.