October 4

The streets sheen from the rain,

Reflecting the glow from houses and streetlights,

And I'm walking down the avenue,

With a cigarette and a small umbrella.

Fall is come,

And all its manners are cruel and real.

Cold comes flooding my face

With gusts of wind and rain;

The snow is soon to find me,

And everyone else I know,

And we will all complain of its coming,

Until we've resigned to the fact that

It's just plain here to stay.

Tonight is reflective,

Like the streets.

Not a clear picture,

But vivid enough to conceal

The reflections of the inner work.

To brave the evening, 

And to settle the substance,

I pour a glass of irish

And sort it out as best I can.

I'm sitting indoors,

My coat still tightly bound.

The only comfort I can fathom

Is too far away from me to be found.

Isn't that just the way,

Isn't that just the way it is?