It is October

When the green of summer turns to gold.,
the shortening days and ever colder air
announce to us 'the year is growing old'.
Fresh fallen leaves now scatter without care,
to dance their merry dance in giddy flight
across the fresh ploughed fields until they sink
to sodden ground, before approaching night,
cloud filled and moonless, settles round like ink.
The air turns motionless and bitter cold
While thick mist moves across the low damp ground,
And settles on the lake and in the wold.
Then raindrops starting form the only sound.
We have a moment's peace till tempests rage.
October's when the seasons turn the page.

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