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

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