Now cometh November’s bitterest winds and rains,
Ending autumn’s sweet colors from its first weary dawn,
Yet thirty days hence, amid winter’s birth pains,
I shall at last bid thee to ‘get off of my lawn.’
Then deep in the darkening days of December,
As cold graying skies loom over year’s end,
Perhaps with the fondness of grace I’ll remember,
That indeed, every year, you’ve been more of a friend.
For father and son both were born unencumbered,
Cradled as babes in your cool morning sun;
Like you I live knowing my days have been numbered,
But all I’ve been granted is having this one.
Now cometh November, despite its imperfections,
Inviting a season of searching within;
Yet thirty days hence amid my introspection
Perhaps I will bid thee to soon come again…
Copyright © Joel Cranford, Oct. 31, 2009 (Lydia’s birthday!).
Photo Credit: © Lydia B. Cranford, Nov. 4, 2016 (my birthday), taken in Cades Cove, Tenn.
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