These cooler evenings
lull me into a false satisfaction
but it is August still and
I know these can't be true
summer wiles the days scheming
for another burn, he's got
plenty of matches left...
damn the matches for
fall breezes and the
brilliant colors of decay in
the early morning chill. I
want to lie under the
orange Libra moon, the
time of my birth and
rebirth, year in and year out
the time of the spirits
all hallows
now please, the days shorten
slowly, too slowly but I know
the harvest is near
the feast is upon us