October Song

for SATB with piano and cello

In my personal opinion, there is nothing more beautiful about the Chippewa Valley (located in northwestern Wisconsin) than its colors in the fall. October Song, a poem written by Wisconsin Poet Laureate Max Garland for The Master Singers' 22nd concert season, is a poem inspired by the colors and divine beauty that is within this valley.

I have always found peace and inspiration in the sites that surround me in Eau Claire. From the sun's first golden rays glistening and dancing on rapids of the Chippewa River, to the silence of the night with its cool and soft stars watching over me. The beauty of this land is unmistakable. Although fall is covered in the warmth and richness of its lush golden colors, it is easy to forget how chilling it can be. Have you ever noticed how beautiful yet fragile the leaves of fall are?  How easy they crumble in one's hands to dust….  Such is life

When going through a day-to-day routine it is easy to take the blessings of ones life for granted. Just as the golden leaves of fall are fragile so is ones soul. It is important for anyone to take a moment to step back and enjoy the delicate colors that surround their life. Think of friends and family and the laughs that you share with those few special individuals. Let that fill your soul and give life and purpose to what you do. Before you know it, the leaves of this tree called life will be falling as winters sting comes. So I leave you with this question, how many colors and leaves will be on your tree before your leaves fall?

-Zachary J. Moore


In the fall at UW -Eau Claire, WI.

Song: October Song
Ensemble: The Master Singers
Conductor: Dr. Gary R. Schwartzhoff

Purchase Sheet Music

Available for SATB with piano and cello
Purchase music through Colla Voce - Sheet Music 


October Song

Show me the changing light on the river,
And I'll show you a portrait of time
Its blessings and burdens and blurring of boarders
Between what's yours and what's mine

High in the arc of the waning season
The wild ragged flocks wind their way
By reckoning older than roadmap or reason-
Moonlight, starlight, the land's old sway

Pay attention to this cries the moon
How time pares the light away so soon,
Though deep in the sky, constellations and I
Will tend to the darkness's wounds

Rapids are the water wanting to sing
Wind is how the cottonwoods earn their wings
Intimations of snow in the fields afterglow
Tell more of what's coming than we want to know.

There's wealth in the mill and the market
An a singular wealth of mind
There's wealth of gold in the tamarack
That the lucky among us may find.

For the silos wearing sunsets like crowns
And the oak leaves changing ruby to rust
For the marshes on the outskirts of castaway towns
This is a song for the fugitive dust.
A song for the fugitive dust.

~Max Garland

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