October 19th from the eyes of a 19-year old.

This is what I wanted to say

Before I fell muttering over sour coffee:

.

On october 19, at sunset,

A bright glow traces the place where summer ends

And the promise of winter begins.

.

Never quite seen then.

Sure, we’ll get the hope, But

Only see how summer has gone woefully stale,

Even wrong.

.

After a few more years,

The rhythm plays loud,

Then, the time will come,

And catch us muttering,

As we look far across the field,

Into the bright October sky.

.