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Wednesday, November 8, 2023

November Is The Poet's Bliss...

The poet's bliss is November...


Sentimental hues arouse...


Warmth from autumn’s waning embers...


Wafting from nigh-barren boughs...


Where the brittle corn rows shimmer
Weighed with final harvest-boon...


Where the revived pastures glimmer
Green as green as middle-June...


Where the heavy heavens splinter
With inklings of snowflake song...



Where the emptiness of gardens...
Lines canning shelves, row on row...



The poet's bliss is November
Sentimental hues arouse
Warmth from autumn’s waning embers
Wafting from nigh-barren boughs
Where the brittle corn rows shimmer
Weighed with final harvest-boon
Where the revived pastures glimmer
Green as green as middle-June
Where the heavy heavens splinter
With inklings of snowflake song
And the kiss of Old Man Winter
Starts to flirt with old and young
Where the emptiness of gardens
Lines canning shelves, row on row
And the chores that summer pardons
Are tackled with gusto now
The poet’s bliss is November
Something in its brooding bent
Fills the poet with the splendor
Of a heart, humbly content

© Janet Martin

The poet’s bliss is November
Something in its brooding bent
Fills the poet with the splendor
Of a heart, humbly content...









Psalm 69:30

I will praise God’s name in song

and exalt Him with thanksgiving.







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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!