soft november
November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
(Clyde Watson)
Tags: autumn, clyde watson, november, poem, poetry, seasons
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SO very lovely! thanks
Such a lovely poem and gorgeous photo! Is that the view from Lovell? Wish I was there.
Yes, taken this past Sunday…my usual walk to the far end of our dirt road. I never get tired of that view
Great – now I’m depressed.
It’s your own fault for living so close to the Arctic Circle
What a beautiful quote…I am going to save it in my little book of quotes I am considering for my cemetery stone. Don’t laugh…just planning ahead!
I think that’s sweet.
Just make sure someone knows where your little book is Joe!
Lovely poem, stunning photograph— that view is one of my favorites in all the world.
Perfect poem and perfect picture. If I had that view within walking distance seems like my whole life would be different. Gorgeous, just gorgeous.