The Perfume

Wisps of winter in the air,

An ever so slight fog hangs here and there.

Orbs of yellow streetlights look so much warmer,

The smell of a burnt off cracker around the corner.

There's the sweet whiff of the Gulachin flowers.

Memories of gift boxes arriving home, shining like stars.

Of holidays when children played around without a care.

Of love that hung gingerly in the seasonal air.

And so like an alluring perfume you could never perfectly define,

Are sweet October memories of mine.

- By the Witch