16 September 2012
This is my time I can feel it come As the summer freys And the chills nip Gone, the heat of night sweat... Gone! The greens made spicy gold And russet love letters Sent from trees to soil No itchy heat can spoil
This, the beautied month, With spidery lashes lowered Through mists and lukewarm noons Through blustered, swollen moons When throbbing flesh Is not the only goal But fireside comfort, shadowed dreams Make wet nights rich and whole.
This is my time The sky, a bucket of stars, Is scented deep with wood And nutty, sun-baked earth Brings bonfires sweetness Before the Winter sterility. Crowflight percolates its smells; By the dampened, mossy hollow Where the heart of Autumn dwells.
This the landscape of imagination. This the nightpot brimming black. I'll take your gales and batwinged sails Tell September I won't be back. The days may shorten and sunlight thin But see bulbs glow and schemes begin. Others complain, bemoan the sun But I'll be the Octoberman...
Octoberman • Opuss № I