October's Child Poem by Troy Cochran

I've seen Octobers come and go
In the space it takes a man to learn
What being alone can really mean.

I've become a kind of season of my own
Between the fall and freeze,
That only counts on leap-years.

With all the moods of twelve months fused,
Add a few sparse leave, and all the view,
And you've got me.

October's child:

A firstborn son the last to leave;
Intruding upon a parent's golden years;
A social embarrassment to its prestige;
And not a very useful crutch
To its bum needs.

But I've been given notice that it's time for me to leave;
High time that I got up off my grass
And made something of myself;

Have a space of my own on the calendar.

It's no use trying to tell an oldschool moth
It takes a Moon to make a month.

And mine's just climbed the fence up over the hill
Completely left the field, and out to lunch.

I'm just waiting to hitch a ride on the next one.