Men mark months and seasons
They have their reasons.
It may be a matter of reference,
Or maybe a simple inference,
For a position depending on space,
Where and when all know their place.
If they could only stop and look around
There is no wonder at what could be found.
October days of willowy breezes,
Flirt with us before it freezes.
Warm they blow,
But within, a suggestion of snow.
We scurry about doing the chores,
Sealing windows and doors,
Raking leaves before they mat
Like a rug and so flat.
“It's all okay,” we murmur,
Soon we'll cuddle 'neath afghan with cat's purr.