November Poem by C Richard Miles
November
November, and cold rain
Swamped silver flat meadow
Where cattle summer-stood
Such short time ago.
Incongruous seafowl
And waders usurped wet grass,
Press-ganged unwillingly
Into temporary marsh.
Grey scuds cloud-saddened skies,
More miserable now
Than leaf loss, sighed-away
By discontent wind.
But, when fog fell,
A silent sweet relief
Could blindfold autumn
From its disappointment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 5:13:29 AM # 1.0.0.1119
