October

October
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October is a runnot muid,
Her checks are dusky red
In georgeous robos she is arrayed!
And whore her brown feet troud
Through wood, on plain or wulien wold
The pathway turns to burnished gold
Her gown in ‘broidered o’er with leaves Of opalescent shade,
The fabric that the frost king weaves to please the pretty maid
And purple grapes that change their hue
From amethyst to changing blue

She wears bright berries in her hair,
Her hair of golden brown;
Her eyes are like clear skles and fair
That never wear a frown;
Her smile is sad, yet, sweetly sad,
A rare, sweet smile to make you glad

She dreams lightly down the year
Toward the cold and snow,
Through golden fields that soon grow sere,
We sigh and watch her go,
With laughter in her roguish eyes
Her eyes, so like the smiling skles
-Will Reed Dunroy