November

November is a rebel sprite

With never rhyme or reason;

She wears the mask of any month

Or toys with any season.

She tosses winter at you

In a flurry and a huff;

But the sun comes out of hiding

To spoil her daring bluff.

Or feigning sweet nostalgia,

She flaunts a day of summer,

When the north wind tears hear trappings off,

Disclosing she's a mummer.

Then penitent, when trees are stripped

And leaves are blown away,

She bows to weather's destiny--

She's autumn for a day!

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)