Death in October

A huddle of dying wasps
caught by an unexpected frost,
blanket the front porch.
Decaying leaves float like sacrificed dreams
on the murky water of our pool.
Their skeletal remains drift
aimlessly in the sharp October air.
A bitter chill bites deeply,
driving the dying traces of summer underground.
Soporific cold turns blood to ice.
This dormant world is locked in a frigid vice
as winters beckons with her glacial glove.