EARLY NOVEMBER
It is early November and the leaves continue to fall,
Many birds still sing for joy, ignore the southern call,
My antirrhinum still blooms such a pretty shade of red,
The parsley and basil are still growing, not yet drying in the shed.

Although the junco’s have come from their northen climes,
And you do see more and more birds on telephone lines,
Winter seems far away for the weather is mild and wet.
With, so far, no sign of the cold winter to us as yet.

The grass is still green and all the rivers run fast and free,
The lake is serine, warm to the touch and as still as can be,
The days are getting shorter and the sun is quite pale,
And every now and then on the water you an occasional sail.

Yet up north the wind bites hard and has a sting,
And the first fall of snow has quickly purified everything
With a blanket of white, and the lakes are now frozen,
Yet I miss the north although warmer weather I have chosen.

No tree is missed as Mt Frost waves his lustrous wand high,
All glittering in the heatless sun under a pale icy blue sky.
Each lake covered in white ice, ermine on every graceful pine tree,
Oh, it is hard for me to choose where I really want to be.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 6 November, 2003