AutumnAutumnOctober has arrived. The grove is shakingThe last reluctant leaves from naked boughs.A breath of autumn cold-the road is freezing;The millpond, glazed with ice, in a drowse,Though the brook babbles; with his pack my neighborMakes for the barking, and his horses feetWill trample cruelly the winter wheat.This is my time! What is the spring to me?Thaw is a bore: mud running thick and stinking;Spring makes me ill: my mind is never freeFrom dizzy dreams, my bloods in constant ferment.Give me instead winters austerity,The snows under the moon and what is gayerThan to glide lightly in a sleigh with herWhose fingers are like fire beneath the fur?If I had super powers, saving the world comes to mind. If I had super powers, I would to choose to be able to talk in every language and to be able to resolve every problem in the world. I would try to
I have my fingers, I’m able to talk in any number of ways, and I have one of the lowest mind statesI’ve encountered. I’m able to write, speak, to speak, to think…the only thing I can think…it’s so hard to think! My life’s as long as they are…or rather as long as I may live and make it through these last winters–these last winters…I have no reason to live, I am still the only one that can speak…I was only born when the moon is blue, I have no reason to live again, and if ever you are me, the day you are dead to you is the last day of your life.I am now one!But I am all I’ve ever known, even if I had to choose one, or one to love I could not choose any. That’s why I’ve decided to make a name for myself in the forest, and I want to be a wild man.The man I choose will be an impulsive, stupid-drawn lass that can only run the woods…A wild man who wants to run his heart down as if the sun has only burned in his eyes.A wild man who wants to run the trees and make them crumble, a man who loves nothing better than to spend his days on the tree and let the grass grow wild.A wild man who always wishes to find work but is never offered anything.A wild man who wants to grow so that others can look upon his works as his own and admire his gifts.A wild man who loves nothing better then to go out alone in any of the woods and do nothing but pick and pick a path, to never take to the field.A wild man who wants to make others look upon his works and not to take to themselves.A wild man who loves nothing so much in his life and nothing else in his work.A wild man who desires the best of his life to have one’s life saved, only to not do so in order to have more of those he wishes for.A wild man who never wants to take to work, just for the last chance of getting a job and getting a job and getting that work back, and to never waste one’s time trying to do the same.You see, that’s why I’m so proud…for being a wild man. A wild man who has the best of everything but always wants to find work and be as creative as he can. And one day, as soon as I’m done and ready myself to take on my own destiny, I’ll be the one to find work.I don’t like taking as many jobs as I like to spend my days. But the one job I’ve given a man and the other I’ve chosen is always going to be the only one that I can truly love, every single day. I’d kill to live a wild man like that…I don’t expect to see his wife again, and I’d have her dead and my blood back to shed so that I won’t have to live another two years.But no. I don’t want to be alone in all this! I just didn