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November arrives with a golden dawn; her winds sing 
a lilting song as we reflect on our blessings all winter long.
                                                                   ~ by poet


Golden days of November embody the warmth of an amber sun 
that shines down on me when each day is being woven and spun.
It's then some leaves fade like Summer's tan and some turn to rust
but in these days of Autumn's bluster, tumble aground they must.
At the mercy of wafting winds, they dance a waltz in their swan song,
leaving branches bare, Mother Nature spares them for only so long.
It's a seasonal time of change, after Spring and Summer have flown.
Gilded November has been given the topaz gem for its birth stone.

It's a grand month for giving thanks for bounties we've been favored.
Reflecting on our blessings and grateful for all good things we savored.
Familiar scents of sage and cinnamon upon feasting tables are found
and appreciative prayers are echoed from voices in praises that resound.
Chrysanthemums make a lovely arrangement on Thanksgiving Day
when family and friends gather to enjoy offerings of a delicious buffet.
There'll be apple pies from orchards that have ripened for the picking.
November's days are winding down; the hands of its clock are ticking.

The month offers itself as a picturesque palette for artists to share.
Sonnets are written about dancing leaves, gracefully pirouetting in air.
With brush, painters capture the beauty of boldly colorful observations
and lyrical tunes are sung from scripture found in the Book of Galatians.
On quiet nights, I smile at winking stars and in whispered breath I pray,
"I'm grateful for November nights You bestow on the Earth each day
and on chilly nights that fill the sky with the scent of hickory and oak
that fuels the warming fire of my hearth where gathers family and folk."

For decades of Novembers, I've filled pages with poetry of the season.
Some have yellowed; others are stained with tears being the reason.
They preserve the memories of when there was more spark to my fire 
but I still have embers from my youth in a heart filled with the desire
to bloom as a newly budded flower, reaching above freshly fallen snow
to rekindle flames burning inside of me to keep them lit and softly aglow.
Ecclesiastes tells us that for everything there is a season under heaven.
November's gifts are plentiful in the calendar's month numbered eleven.
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