October is the treasurer of the year, <br />And all the months pay bounty to her store; <br />The fields and orchards still their tribute bear, <br />And fill her brimming coffers more and more. <br />But she, with youthful lavishness, <br />Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress, <br />And decks herself in garments bold <br />Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold. <br />She heedeth not how swift the hours fly, <br />But smiles and sings her happy life along; <br />She only sees above a shining sky; <br />She only hears the breezes' voice in song. <br />Her garments trail the woodlands through, <br />And gather pearls of early dew <br />That sparkle, till the roguish Sun <br />Creeps up and steals them every one. <br />But what cares she that jewels should be lost, <br />When all of Nature's bounteous wealth is hers? <br />Though princely fortunes may have been their cost, <br />Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs. <br />Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free, <br />She lives her life out joyously, <br />Nor cares when Frost stalks o'er her way <br />And turns her auburn locks to gray.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/october-39/
