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.
- Clyde Watson
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2 comments from guests:
This is what's happening with me here as the Minnesota winter sets in. The afternoons are still warm but the mornings are getting cold already, with frost gathered on the ground.
Love the poem and picture.
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