DM Babbit Poet Blitz

Eve of November

It is the eve of November
  fall harvests gathered and stored away
All Hallows eve
  and the gray black wisps of clouds
  stretch across a brilliant white setting sun.
EEiry images trace faint spewed  tracks in the sky
  and hovering in ominous flight below
  black shadow crows cry out and caw aloud.
Burly squirrels dig furiously 
  burying acorns beneath dried leaves
  then wave their tails in bantered chit chat.
October bows its head
  swooping low in a false curtsy
  welcoming the winter cold.

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Daniel Turner October 31, 2016 at 5:07 PM Excellent personification of the coming month, DM.

Chris Green October 31, 2016 at 4:46 PM It's not too cold where I am at, down right hot. But your poem sure does bring back memories of a time I did feel this change about the end of October. Nicely expressed.