November
November month of fog and mists.
The early mornings have a bite
the silver grass by Jack Frost kissed
in the dark hours of the night.
The sun reluctant slow to rise
His winter rays no longer warm
that frost persists is no surprise.
This is the calm before the storm.
Winter advances openly
no power can withstand its might
What has to be will come to be
A winter world of black and white.
Though advent justifies a feast
the winter cares not in the least.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Added by Poetry Lover
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