Having cast off emerald garments
Trees shamelessly flaunt their nakedness
Swaying in the ever colder winds
Of November
Imparting scanty warmth to upturned faces and
Golden kisses upon Queen Anne’s Lace
Slanted sunlight throws the long shadows
Of November
Standing as sentry at field’s edges
Lone cornstalks mourn fallen comrades
Twisted and mangled on the frozen ground
Of November
Plodding across its angry grey face
Clouds pregnant with a promise of snow
Release their fury from the sky
Of November
Twinkling near the Hunter
Little Sisters whisper to one another
Coming Winter’s secrets. In the nights
Of November