October's Song

October skies are crystal blue,
Her leaves are painted every hue,
There's a tang in the air.

Our feet march to a quicker beat
When leaves come swirling down the street
With the wind through our hair.

October! You sing to my eyes!
October! My longing heart cries,
I love you so much
I wish I could touch
All the beauty you bring to our lives.

The magic glow from the harvest moon
Blends sweetly with October's tune,
And they tug at my heart.

The wild geese flying in the sky
Bid me follow their Pied Piper cry,
As they turn to depart.

October! You sing to my eyes!
October! My longing heart cries,
I love you so much
I wish I could touch
All the beauty you bring to our lives.

Saralyn McAfee Smith
Written about 1981

October

October's the sprightliest
Girl of the year---
Her manner's refreshing
And so full of cheer.
She's usually seen sporting
A vivid new coat,
With splashes of scarlet
And gold 'round her throat.
A marvelous lady,
She never complains;
She dances in sunlight,
But also in rains.
She also loves mystery
And wears a disguise,
But she's easily unmasked
By her sparkling eyes.
Her age is no secret---
She's no tender girl;
But she's seldom inactive---
Her life is a whirl!
Come dance with October,
And give her a try;
She'll soon steal your heart,
As she's dazzled your eye!

Saralyn McAfee Smith
Written about 1978

October Night

A great gold moon is shining o'er the fields
Wherein the haystacks huge are standing guard
In watchfulness o'er pumpkins deep in slumber,
Who dream sweet dreams of summer days gone by.
A wind quite different from the gentle zephyr
That the haystacks knew when they were still uncut
Has begun to blow its chilly breath upon them,
Warning them of cruel days to come.
A clump of clouds come drifting o'er the moon,
Distorting all its loveliness with streaks.
The haystacks look---then tremble with the wind,
Who shrieks and screams more shrilly than before.
A moment, then the menace gray is scattered,
And the moon throws down its light as't did before.
The haystacks sigh a whisp'ry sigh of succor,
And then resume their vigil o'er the fields.

Saralyn McAfee Smith
Written about 1957, at age 14