October

On the harp of time,
Soft music is strumming,
A grand procession,
Of seasons are coming.

A chorus of trumpets,
Announces the lead.
Knighted young horse-men,
Approaches on steed.

A gala-event...blazing,
With armour and lancers.
While slowly...in rhythm,
Come gay-feathered dancers.

The queen...all be-jeweled,
In pomp to behold.
Rides in a chariot,
All studded in gold.

Mist on the horizon,
Through the countryside.
Mid splendor and glory,
These troopers must ride.

Feasting by star-light,
On dragon-fly wings.
And sipping refreshment,
From clear, dew-drop springs.

Departing with banners,
And gorgeous-made gowns.
To the strum of soft music,
They trip through the towns.

E.P. 1908 - 1989

This is where I would walk the dogs before they died. Amazing beauty.