November. A poem.

November.

The bare-ing trees sigh and sway with the weight of 

.

winter coming. Stripped clean of life,

.

they seem to know in their spindly bones

.

a far greater glory awaits them, if

.

they hunker down and weather the blessing

.

of cold, clean rest.

.

November.

.

Winter is coming, and it is a welcome reprieve

.

from the world.

.

🍂


 

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