November
Thou comest, November, quiet and placid
As Autumn takes the fall and leaves take wing
Words of Longfellow I barely remember
Though I am trying with all of my might
Each tree becomes a paintbrush of Picasso’s
To color these days like Monet’s second Spring
But there is no ember quite like November
To warm up the hearth and light up the nights.
Copyright © Ina Goodling | Year Posted 2023
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