© 1996
Again I sense it’s coming November
always this turn something anew
as it melds it’s past with me forever
filling a hollow clutter inside
The painted room of a special few
through it makes a perfect divide
blowing aside the remnants of blue.
Vibrantly staining – covers all remembered
lost is time – the rest of the year
for within this season it all comes together
as it wept the willow an autumn’s goodbye
Only the fallen the winds could clear
ended the rustle with that of a sigh
the times held close and ever so dear.
Indebted to the ones that embellish November
each time not leaving me ever the same
never to want a still dreary December
a listless wait – with no change of shade.
To thrive in contorting colours of reign
to frolic and gather in the endless glade
this world in which November had came
No wonder – November
of these pieces I’m made.