November

Autumn,
And
The
Grass
Doesn’t
Grow
While
Elm
Leaves
Fall
Like
Golden
Snow.
Now
The
Town
Will
Turn
Adobe
Brown
As
The
Mountain
Stands
Vigil
In
A
Crown
Of
Frost.
Night
Grows
Long
At
The
Cost
Of
Light,
And
We
Wait,
Summer
Locked
Behind
A
Wintry
Gate,
For
That
Mysterious
Return
Of
Spring,
And
Every
Lovely,
Living
Thing.