October came and was coldly told That September had been taken. August fires erupted laughter, Zealous among burning bracken. October, angered and distraught, Wept a fortnight for the love he had, The love which, now, was naught. Twenty-one days passed when August reigned Over the Byronic hero, October. Twenty-one days of pressing heat Till at last the day came sober. On the twenty-second, a soft tear fell And put to ashes the flames of Hell. The August villain let go his scepter And all at once was cooler weather. The cruelty of exhaustion at end— The fire in the demon’s eyes put out— A kindness slowly creeping, A warming cold sweeping throughout. October marches on in bitter regret, Uttering curses till the thirtieth In heartbroken failure and fret. August and October fall under mask, A disguise against hero, and one for The antagonist and his infidel task. Sweet November, let ye be warned, The heart of August is coal and ashes, His charm not sound, his halo horned. Let you not be alone and daunted; Let you not forget the saddest tale— That Octobers’ love is lost and haunted. J.B. Dreams