A Poem for November

The last of all the warblers are sifting through the trees

And chestnuts, brown and ruddy, sway lightly in the breeze.

Far away on mountains, across the rocky stream

Red maples blaze like fire, and amber aspens gleam.

The creek bejeweled in colors will soon be sealed in snow.

A few short days till winter, and soon the fall will go

Away beyond the ridges to silent silver heights.

Creation shows her beauty before the cold wind bites.