November 2 Poem by Barry Middleton

November says the year is ending,
the harvest in, and it is time for thanks.

Autumn is a prelude and reminder
that years and seasons cannot last.

We get but one final November;
all the others are past.

The cooler air is like the feast
that we prepare Thanksgiving Day.

It is a time to think
and count our blessings.

I look into November fog;
I know that this may be my last.

I must take from it what I can,
gratitude and memories,

and all the panoply of life,
for this is my only November.