November By Henry Beer | Poem

November

November days are dark and cold,
The saddest of the year;

The clouds do hill and vale enfold,

The days seem lonely and dreary.

The leaves have fallen to the earth,

The trees stand bare, alone.

Our feathered friends with songs of mirth

To sunny climes have gone.

And, when we wander through the woods,

A blanket made of leaves

Protects the springtime flowers that bloom

From winter's chilling breeze.

All snuggled 'neath this leafy robe

The flowers lie asleep,

This rustic blanket keeps them warm

When snow lies cold is gathered in,

The fodder stands in rows;

The grain is gathered in the bins,

No want the farmer knows.

Though dark November days may be,

There's beauty all around;

The bittersweet with berries bright

On fences old is found.

The cattails in the marshes deep,

The wild geese flying high;

We see them take their southern course

Across the cloudy sky.

The cellar is a festive place-

Attracts the heart and eye,

Where fruits and vegetables abound,

Which winter needs supply.

The walnuts lie in attic floor,

The pumpkins in a row.

Here peace, contentment, fill out hearts

As autumn winds do blow.

Though dark this month may be, and dreary,

Our hearts are filled with praise

To Him from whom all blessings come

On dreary November days.

By Henry Beer

My Garden of Verse

Pages174-175