There's somethin' 'bout the time of year
when fall is almost over,
September's just a memory,
now lost in deep October.

The nights have changed from cool to cold
the trees from leafed to bare,
a breeze is now a cuttin' wind
that hones the evenin' air.

And overhead a muted light
casts shadows o'er the gloom,
like tricks upon All Hallow's Eve
an orange October moon.

A melancholy, haunted place
this lonely trail tonight,
a grove of twisted, barren shapes
against that autumn light.

The sounds of evenin' aren't the same
no crickets, birds or frog,
instead a moan among the trees
or distant, mournful dog.

While overhead that muted light
casts shadows o'er the gloom,
like tricks upon All Hallow's Eve
an orange October moon.

There's somethin' 'bout the time of year
when fall is almost over,
September's just a memory,
now lost in deep October.

© 2007, Rod Nichols
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.