November Poem by Raymond Farrell

I too dislike November
icy tears trickling
down the gray face
of a Fall Queen
bitterly lamenting her past beauty.

Naked trees gnarled and twisted
dot the barren landscape
all stretched out
like a corpse
cold and still.

The breath of winter bites at my ears
shakes loose empty seed pods
rustles dead brown leaves
into muddy ditches.

Two crows silently fly northeast
across a dull gray sky.

A blue jay screams
a lone dog barks.

All falls silent
freezing rain turns to snow
and I am alone.

The breath of life is sucked from the ground
the corpse lies perfectly still
softly draped in white.