November the Penultimate
Never was a month so motley in its days:
November, penultimate month
of a year that frames the seasons,
when leaves in early days
turn to brightest garnet,
blazing topaz,
illuminated gold ā
the latter days arrive
with the fire of the winds,
and the burning leaves take the plunge
from infernal towers of the branches
to the burial grounds of a gun-
metal, brumal earth ā
November, November,
calves ache from the marathon,
hearts pound the door
to another December
when holly berries huddle upon the petals
of the soft-spoken snow,
and the fallen leaves breathe again
at the sound of the carols of the children,
the children rejoicing.
D. G. Vachal Ā© 2013
Photography Credit: November’s Decline by Bucaneve
lilies, sparrows and grass 
soft-spoken snow ā- love this thought š¤āļø
Thank you, Susan! Yes, the snow is soft-spoken compared with the prattle of a heavy rainfall.
“When holly berries huddle upon the petals
of the soft-spoken snow”… love these images, Dee… all will be gone soon and another round will begin. We’re on an endless cycle of death and rebirth!
Thank you, Ellen! Indeed the cycle continues, and hope is rebirthed over and over again!