A Poem For November, penned by moi

 

November

The silent shadows are lazily, yet

          most deliberately,

draped from the frigid clouds of

November’s endless days.

          November-oh! November!-with bitter

sweet days and cold, unforgiving nights.

          Forgive me, for not resembling the warm,

glowing pink-brown flesh

of the sunset...

                                      Haunting me endlessly,

                                      I forever haunt

                                                          you.

(It was far more interesting to write my own stuff than listen to lectures on Thoreau, who was an utter hypocrite. All that time in the woods, writing Walden he was also getting warm suppers from Mrs. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Yes, that's truly roughing it and being independent.)