A Ghazal for November
The maple leaves are red in November,
I recall what you said in November.
The sky is vast and cold shadows are cast,
Most of the birds have fled in November.
Letter received, she was badly deceived,
Now she rips it to shreds in November.
Solid earth becomes sand, where do I stand?,
When there’s nothing but dread in November.
Incense on the altar, I pause, falter,
I pray for someone dead in November.
The rising sun, the day has just begun,
With those Psalms that I’ve read in November.
I’m alone, I reach my brother by phone,
Holidays are ahead in November.
I completely refuse to read the news,
I’ll do something instead in November.
It is not quite night, at dusk there’s the sight
Of unraveling threads in November.
Somehow I knew, what you said wasn’t true,
I was being misled in November.
I, Wordsmith Jim, find shelter in a hymn,
That’s the place I’ve been led in November.