We walk upon a buried path,
never to return;
a path full of His wrath
with leaves soon to burn.

With a hue as bright
as candle-dipped flames
and as magically starry a sight
as a Van Gogh picture frame.

Robins chirp nature’s lullaby
as crickets pluck its tune
for only its song can slight His eye
and put craters in the moon.

O’ October, lift your breeze,
let it carry me across the seas.
O’ October, take your leaves,
and accept our pity as December grieves.

O’ October, take my hand,
let it quake throughout the land.
O’ October, squeeze it tight
as it ripples in darkness of night.

O’ October, one of a kind,
a leaf in a hay pile I could never find.
O’ October, don’t ever wake,
I can’t take another heartbreak.