The October Song

 

I am the same age as old people I know,

Although I don’t think of myself in that way:

Same person inside but, as years come and go,

I’m now in October, no longer in May.

 

The flowers are gone, all the leaves will turn gold,

Then fall to make room for new leaves in the Spring.

A tale through millennia, told and retold,

Old leaves making soil from which new flowers spring.

 

The cycles of nature since life first began,

Are birth and death, rebirth and change over time.

It’s in this grand scheme that the life of one man

May briefly compose some new rhythm and rhyme.

 

My season: October: cold winds start to blow;

Leaves fall bringing holidays: on with the show!