My October Always Burning

Fog curls low on the gravel road A scarf caught in the hawthorn,

frayed and old I pick it up, still holds her trace

Like cinnamon and morning grace The maples blush, the air grows thin

And suddenly I'm back again She turns streetlights into lanterns Makes cold coffee

taste like wine My quiet storm, my steady compass In this fading autumn light

She turns silence into singing Warms the frost with just her name

My October always burning Even when she's not the same We

walked here once beneath this sky She named each cloud as they passed by