The twilight's breeze swoons a scene
Of autumn's ambered dancing.

Roused from their silent slumber,
The leaves rustle with vigor.

"That ol' wind has come again
For me to be where I've been
Spite the space 'tween now and then."

Rummaging for past fervor,
I flow from that October.

The open road lies in wait;
The future is the past's gate.