This Is November

Frost on the rooftops,

Dew on the grass,
Leaves drifting down,
Wherever we pass;
Wet, windy weather,
Skies often gray,
Leaves piling up
Though raked every day.

Ice on the puddles,
Trees almost bare;
Mornings are chilly,
Breath on the air.
Squirrels are still busy,
Where nuts can be found,
Hiding their treasures
In hollows around.

Darkness comes early,
It's cozy indoors
With apples and popcorn,
And books to explore.
The harvest is in
And all stored away:
Watch for the snowflakes
To come any day.

- HARRIET C. WHIPPLE