October

While on his cigarette break from a regular drinking session with his male friends last night, he told me, he hated October. He didn't tell me why. I didn't bother to ask although I probed a bit that it might be because his birthday will be three days from now. He said he's not that big birthday guy or something. He just wanted to let it pass like an ordinary day. But, I bet he will still have more drinks than during his regular tipsy nights.

This guy is a poor thing. I didn't know he's a drunkard. He drinks alcohol almost every night. I can't stand such habit, or addiction, I suppose. But, in spite of that, the song Scientist by Cold Play is still playing in my head. Someday, the playing will stop once I will decide to finally bump my head on a wall or trunk.

Anyway, whatever his reasons for telling me that he hates October so much, I told him, try not to. And, having come across a poem of Robert Frost, I dedicate this to him. I wish he would write something about why he does hate this month.


October

by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.