What can I say about a perfect day in October?
a mild sun that appears to be fused with silver.
A few cumuli, looking like a bride’s belt,
and the sky has a blueness that is not deep
rather of mythical haziness, a dream not yet
realized seeking understanding of something
that is limitless. The garden is full of flowers, it
is as a new spring has sprung, wordless and
in supple silence I can hear the forest’s animals
sigh in utter contentment.
I cannot afford to sleep I must catch this very
moment before the good days end.
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Comments about this poem (Unusual October by oskar hansen )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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