I miss you most
deep in October
when the chill wind rushes
through the empty places
of my heart
searching.
And the runaway leaves
twirl me in a winsome dance of love
hoping.
I miss you most
deep in October
when the frost bites
and the farmer stacks the hay
in the fields of warm gold
and the island's shrimpy
sunset begs with wide eyes for your
open heart.
But you are not there.
I hear the echo of your words
Formed in some deep place.
A place you will not let me go.
Oh, I miss you most deep in October.
And it's then I decide I cannot let you go.
