October (Photo credit: rachel a. k.)
You were wrong,
my poetic friend, because
October is the cruellest month, burying
dead leaves in dead soil, mixing
grief and longing, stirring
dying flowers with autumn rain.
It leaves me mourning
a distant summer, as I watch
the brief, hot green of hope
drift, unrealised in time,
through soft grasses
and towards the winter plain.
I always find October a very difficult month, as it makes me feel very sad. The slow loss of light strikes me hard, as it does many others.
Anne Brooke Poetry 