Sweet October fire,
Your flames race ever higher.
Your blush ignites the face of all not evergreen.
Can this be death?
This heavenly breath of Summer’s evensong?
The mist conceals each morning’s gaze;
mountains cloaked in pearly haze.
Sweet October fire,
you’re Autumn’s pilgrim – restless with desire.
Yet, if this be death, I’m less afraid.
Where Beauty triumphs pain decays.
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Copyright 2011: Charissa Strobolakos
