November Night
November Night
the day is shrouded in grey
monotone, without visible life
my eye wanders bleakness
searching.
sea is dark all foreboding
even as it lays like glass, seeming quiet,
beguiles the fisher beckoning him
to see what hides beneath?
the willow she dabbles in the river
toes curled back before the cold
droops defeated by her nature
not a living thing is seen.
the fox sleeps in her den
saving for the glory of the night
when life returns through
the boon of Christmas lights.
slowly they appear along our road
first one home then another
joining in a delightful chorus
of twinkle, sparkle and shine.
the sea reflects the electric glory
the river sings carols only willows know
the fox and all stop on their nightly routine
and invite Christmas to shimmer in their eyes.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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