November

[digitS']

November, a poem, by Clyde Watson

November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.

[gumbo2176]

And here I am still running my A/C to keep the house cool heading into November and spent the better part of an hour pulling Oxalis weeds out of my garden. By the way, that is a lesson in futility if ever there was one.

[HoneyBerry]

The weeds are sorry. They promise to not do it again.