Fall Is a Brewing
Outside October perches it's little feet
upon summer's fading scenery,
replacing marigolds with mums
and swapping tiki torches
for dimly lit jack o' lanterns,
illuminating midnight
with another seasons mysterious approach
and I cannot help but wonder
if fall had a heart,
to whom would it belong
(a fallen leaf,
the moon's cycloptic eye,
or perhaps someone of human descent)
an owl gazing restlessly
at the cool, autumn sky
seems to be interrogating God
with the same, single question
who, who, who
but no one answers
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