Come, Fall
Come, Fall. Greet me as a lover from my past,
your breeze embracing me (I’m in no hurry)
as you always coolly do. You come on fast,
blowing past September as its leaves scurry
into bright October. Oh, why can’t you last
and linger there until the winter’s flurry?
Nostalgia-wrapped, I feel melancholy grow
when you leave so soon with first November’s snow.
Sept 23, 2022
For the Ottava Rima Poetry Contest of L. Milton Hankins
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2022
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