RobertRaymond

Run with rusty scissors through the bleak October night Dreams have turned to nightmares and the end is now in sight Wildwood spirits free-fly through the limbs of screaming trees Screech an October tune, a mindless howling for release Summers dead and so are the leaves that lately were so bright The world is now an old movie, filmed in black and white Nocturnal creatures' eyes stare, waiting for their feast Fall upon the scissors and satiate the beasts