Nearing the end of November, the worst part of the year, if you ask me. Have this poem to highlight this.
It is at the end of fall,
When the colors are all gone,
That you begin to see the flaw,
Of nature and its seasons
Watch how very seamlessly,
That winter ends in spring.
How spring merges into summer,
And how summer ends in fall.
But when fall has lost its flair,
Then it doesn’t seem to end.
You reach a natural time to shift,
But winter never comes.
We’re left with a greyish mass,
With all nature dead and dormant,
And a ground awaiting for a snow,
That never seems to fall.
I implore you weather gods,
Please end this wasteful time.
I’d rather have an early snow,
Than this dark and dreary autumn.