Sonnet on the passing of a friend

Born each September in Jamaica Plain
Your birth portends a season of great hope--
Of college football and big hurricanes,
Of fallen leaves, another Red Sox choke.

But faster than the Boston leaves do drop
Your taps replaced by bitter winter brews.
It comes too quick; I still can taste your hops.
They help hold off the stubborn winter blues.

I know the time is nigh when it gets dark
At 5, then 4, and then 3:45.
Your time in bars and stores, a fixed mark,
As selflessly you warm our chilly lives.

It's no surprise I hold you as the best.
Please rest in peace, my Sam Octoberfest.