November Skies
The leaves,
--They Change,
Their pigment fading,
From Green to Red, Orange, Yellow and Brown,
Gently falling,
--Is their calling,
To the colder autumn ground,
And as they lay there,
--As they stay there,
Lifeless, dead,
Lying like dirt,
The rousing wind rustles them up,
Making them dance and flirt,
As they’re flying
--and “goodbye”ing
Floating towards
A crimson view,
Showing the November sky,
The autumn’s eternal hue.
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