November Days

Slight chill to the mist laden air A clinging to warmth, homebound lairs. Bring down the trunks of warm woollies, Lay out soft scarves, gay similes. Sneakers come out, sandals go in, November enters cold and clean. Whispering frosty sweet nothings Migratory birds taking wing. It’s a time for hot chocolate Snuggling under cosy blankets Taking a book to bed to read November’s heart in ink, to bleed. With a Mont blanc pen or onscreen, Edit the draft, and send it in. Old soul November’s days have rhyme Hushed melodies yearning to chime. Month before advent, wintry Lethe Take stock of life, hold on to myth.