November

October now is on its way; November mists are here to stay. With mornings dark and damp and drear The wintry blast is ever near. Welcome to November. A mournful mist entombs the trees. All is still – no hint of breeze. Like soup the mist lies in the vale; All colours bleached, pastel and pale. Mysterious November. A melancholy haunts the wood As desperate thrushes hunt for food. Sadness drips from skeletal twigs And blackbird in the dead leaves, digs. Deep and dark November. But sunbeams slanting through the mist Bring joy and hope of Spring, I wist. Three months to bear the Winter's worst Before the first Spring blossoms burst. Hopeful in November. The “dainty lady's” lost her gown, For every leaf there's only down. The beech mast on the forest floor And hedgerow bright with hip and haw. Time of change, November. Such stunning colours, rich and mellow : Deep red and orange, brown and yellow. With “mellow fruitfulness” aglow – Sweet chestnut, hawthorn, spindle, sloe. Colourful November.