November
by Greg Zemlansky
The frost has enhanced a shiny crunch
to the colorful dying leaves on the ground.
The kitchen’s tea kettle hot steam makes
a train whistle sound.
There is very little warmth from the once
balmy rays of the sun.
The home and hearth getting ready for the
holiday season.
Autumn’s fire has been extinguished by an
icy snowy galore.
The orchards have shared man’s fruits of
harvested labor.
The harvest bonfires the flames leaping
like they are in a ballet.
The chilly acoustic wind invigorates the
crispness of a bleak gray day.
The cold weather penetrates through many
layers of clothes and freezes the face.
The snapping red flames from a burning
log warms a fireplace.
The last gobble of a bunch of turkeys on
a country farm.
November’s melancholy of nature is dark
gloomy and anything but calm.
