In the northern embrace where autumn still weeps,
November descends, and the world softly sleeps,
A quiet dance of leaves, a whispered, fading song,
As nature dons its sombre cloak, in twilight, it belongs.
The trees, once ablaze in a fiery embrace,
Now stand bare, their glory an echo of grace,
A hush falls upon the land, a soft and misty shroud,
A time to reflect, in silence we're endowed.
Crisp air whispers secrets of days long passed,
As the sun retreats, its warmth doesn't last,
November, the poet of the dwindling light,
Paints the canvas of the day with strokes so light.
Fields, once alive in a tapestry of green,
Now don hues of amber, a quiet scene,
Yet the spirit remains, steadfast and serene,
In the heart of November, a quiet dream.
Cozy hearths beckon, fireside tales spun,
Echoes of laughter, hearts gently won,
As darkness lengthens its mystical hold,
November's tale, ancient and bold.
The scent of earth, of dampened leaves,
Crackling fires, what the heart believes,
In this November, a melancholic grace,
A reminder of life's ever-changing embrace.
Through the chill, a promise softly whispers,
Of renewal, of hope, of dreams that glisten,
For in November's quiet, there lies a seed,
Of life's eternal cycle, a truth we need.
So let us embrace this November's cool,
As autumn surrenders, as winter shall rule,
For in the quiet moments, there's beauty to find,
In November's grasp, in its tender bind.
