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
2 comments:
Wow isn't that appropriate! Where did you find that one? Beautiful girlie!!
So now when is Ireland?
I love this poem! I almost used it myself for my frost post a few weeks back and I even clomped out to the horse pasture to take a pic or two of the pin cherries on the tree... but Mr. Frost (Jack that is, not Robert) came knocking on the door and poor Mr. Watson stayed on the shelf. You truly are a kindred soul...
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