My Dear October, you will be full of dreams
which spark over nights through mirth of the angels.
Rejoining the hope I’m dancing the waltz
of leaving and getting the treasures of times.
My Dear October, you will make up my own,
A wistful yearning might embrace morning’s chill
while crafting the tales through your foggy dawn
to bring near to heart your colourful will.
My Dear October, you will be full of hope
and joy, while my waltz could become so much sober.
Through your magic leaves, I’m catching the rope
and dear to me will remain, my October.
© Simona Prilogan