November Poem

Now chill & gray November

Comes slowly o’er the plain,

Drearily the winter wind

Sings songs of future pain.

.

Wrapped closely in deep grey,

She scarcely will let pass

A little ray of sun

To cheer the sodden grass.

.

She scatters with her hand

The leaves dried up and brown,

The few that yet remain

From gay October’s crown.

.

Her eyes are dark & sad

Sad for the dying year,

And often in the mist

There falls a silent tear.

.

Beneath a cheerless sky,

The trees are standing bare;

The fog has risen thick,

And she is no more there.