November November Poem by Kevin Hulme

Oh November November
It has no joy i'll remember.
No ornate leaf upon the lofty tree
The weaving Butterfly and Buzzing Bee.
No Sun as such to warm the Brow
No haze upon the Meadow now.
No Monet Blue to bleach the sky
With tuneful call of Songbirds by.
No flowering blush of Gardens Wide,
Sunday meals by the Riverside.
Rich boiling dawns that Vulcan strikes
The Sultry dusk of August nights.
No cooling drinks beneath the shade
Thereby all mirth and friendships made.
With Evening walks through field and Dale
To Village Inn and English Ale.
For the Sun fulfilled its tenancy well,
And in Balmy days my memories dwell.
But as for dreary sodden damp November,
It has no joy or Soul i'll remember.