November musings

The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The ghosts of her
Departed leaves.

The ground is hard,
As hard as stone,
The year is old,
The birds are flown.

And yet the world,
In its distress,
Displays a certain loveliness.
John Updike.
Dark grey mornings,
Misty and mellow,
Cold days turning
To frost at night,
Wrap up warm,
Sit in the twilight
of the fire,
Burning in the hearth
Warming my toes
The earth has a surreal
Feel to it
Thoughts of Christmas
Maybe snow
Family and friends
A glass of cheer
Tucked up warm
In cosy beds
Hard to wake and
Face the grey
Of November mornings.
Lynda Robson.
"Splitting dry kindling
on a damp November day -
wind chimes tinkling.
Michael P. Garofalo.