Black, Florence Deacon. “November.” Canadian Magazine 56 (1920): 52.

November

The year is dead,
Growth and achievement are done,
Like a fair young woman
Lying coffined,
Her gold-haired youth and energy awaste,
So lies this splendid desolation.

The empty trees stand clear
Against the drifting clouds,
Their gold, rustling underfoot,
Stirs in the questioning airs.
Soon, soon this sunshine too
Will die away,
And winter come.

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