We Are Not Old As Seasons Change Poem by Brian D Griffin

I stand in August and smell October coming.
The dry summer crumbles fallen leaves while green.
The eyes of children widen as the siren call of hallowed hall begins.
And I the child still feel the stomach knot of that unknown.

The boasting heat of Summer declares itself out loud,
yet we know it stands not long.
The late night smell of change gives fragile life away to hidden autumn.
It roars its heat like old men bluster of strength long gone.

Bend your will to the inevitable change.
Embrace the colored dance of coming Fall.
Look into the darkness and build yourself a fire,
for the warmth of winter is what we both have left.