October won’t wait for the winter to come,
The nights get so chilling, the morning is numb.
You look in the sky for a glimmer of hope,
But the cold ties your thoughts in a knot like a rope.
The wind dances lively, tries to push you around,
Till the last leaves of autumn come tumbling down.
The axe wants an edge, for a mountain of wood,
The rusty old maul wants to work like it should.
The fireplace is lonely, empty, and cold,
A fire would strengthen the resolve of the old.
The water’s so still, from up on this perch,
it looks more like glass, than the coal in its dirt.
The cold it is ruthless, it gave us no clues,
That winter’s upon us, there is no refuge.
The squirrels who have wasted their time with their dreams,
Will be looking for nuts under snow it would seem.