November's Way

(yes, I must confess, 'I'm on a bit of a farewell tour... for November-ness:)

November has a way with hearts

It broods in hues of bronze, gray-blues

And often teases us with art

That only November imbues

It stirs the air with Bitter Sweet

And scrawls primitive silhouettes

Against the sky while ‘neath our feet

Its remnant laughter pirouettes

November has a way with words

My, how the poet rends its stance

Half-mad, her Muse is undeterred

An ink and wildling-wind romance

Where still, the will of quill half-poised

Rebels, and she returns to scale

The curves and colorless decoys

Huddled against November’s gale

November has a way with time

And suddenly we are aware

Of an ethereal pantomime

Swindling The Hour of precious air

This Thing that nobody can keep

Is soon like ashes in an urn

And ever veers toward That Deep

From which nobody can return

November has a tender way

Of showing us love’s hold-let-go

Life’s intermingled gold and gray

Depicts both wonderment and woe

Then, dearer is the darling day

Where summer’s rose and rondel spill

Because we know November’s Way

Is waiting over star-strung hill

© Janet Martin