OCTOBER 1985
A dead-still mosquito hawk clings
To the reedy stalk of a cattail
As its fluff of seeds it flings
To a chill, stout wind to sail.
A death-drunk sparrow wobbles
On cancerously misshapen feet.
Its body weaves and bobbles
To death's determined beat.
The writer laid aside his pen.
The spirit of the innovator preceded him long.
The stage sees only where the actor has been.
Name one who'll not miss the Gypsy's song.
Oh, October! Deceptive season of bright ending.
Season with colors that blind,
Only sadness now you are sending.
Season so undefined.
Oh, October!
In this year of gloom,
Each of us walk more sober,
Knowing more each mortal's doom.
C. R. Williams
10 October 1985