An Octave Falls

In a whispering breeze the tales hover,
Under gray skies autumn leaves bow down,
November's breath is chill and sober,
It frosts the edges of a now barren dawn.

Candles light the silence of remembrance,
For those who danced with past season's flame.
Their echoes resonate, a soft cadence,
In hearts where memories remain.

The sun, a timid guest, casts a pale light.
on boreens, on paths, now less trodden,
Where shadows flicker with our summer sighs,
And the pulse of the earth feels sodden.

Let us in this quiet after revelry's end,
Listen to whispers of rest, not decay,
Hear a time: To cherish, heal, and mend,
Before year’s end marches into the fray.


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