It's almost the middle of November and wasn't October glorious? Not that it gets spectacular in my part of the country but it does finally get cool---even cold at night.
Of scarlet, golden orange, and sunlit yellow.
Dance . . . there should be dancing
And music to go with it, soft and cool
Instead of cold and hard
Like diamonds splintering
To lay colorless on the grass
All bleached into insensibility.