Gentle November,
curling around October like a fallen leaf.
Settling lightly, a misty morning fog over warm brown mud.
Cool air sits low, a carpet packed by a swirl of summer tailwind.
A wispy last breath.
Buried beneath, like spring bulbs, gloom greets us.
The biting cold comes too, meeting us at the bonfire for the first kiss of winter.
Perennials shiver and we wait snug beneath a quilt of leaves.
December sighs at us.
Poeyum 