Like and arrow from a bow, or a wind from a storm,
You hath appeared again, when it seems but yesterday that my first memory was born.
October, October, from whence did you arise?
From the valleys below, or from the hills where I lift mine eyes?
You have crept upon me tenderly, but with the cunning of a devilish spy!
I was only awakening from a long summer's sleep, and my dreams had been hot and deep.
It was only August, then September,
But where you came into the picture is hard to remember!
October, October, from whence did you hasten? I must get a hold of the days, for my time is a wastin'!
No comments:
Post a Comment