DAWN IN NOVEMBER

Dawn in November walks tippy-toe

over a lacework of crystal ice,

the artistic works where Jack Frost

came lurking ‘round last night…

Ribbons of daylight twine the waters

now edged with embroidered ice

as November morning’s diadems

sparkle on cat-tail and wild rice

growing near the water’s edge;

a brief November paradise

to glimpse in the early hours,

white, lacey frost across the land,

in those diamond studded bowers

where the skeletons of summer

now seem like crystal flowers

and a mist hangs o’er the valley

like a venetian veil

and then rises off the river

like small clouds of smoke

that settle just above the hills

seeming to evoke

some grace, a brief moments charm

o’er a now fallow, barren land…

one final glimpse of autumn

and cold winter is at hand.

The north wind shuffles fallen leaves

and the forest hills remember

October and their glory days

as dawn tip-toes through November.