November drifts on whispered skies,
With amber leaves and soft goodbyes.
The fields grow quiet, the branches bare,
Yet warmth of hearth and home is there.
The air is crisp, the mornings pale,
Frost writes poems on the rail.
A hush of peace, a slowing breath,
A gentle pause before year’s death.
Candles flicker, fires gleam,
Hearts turn inward, eyes still dream.
Of gratitude, of love we send,
Of gathered hands, of time to mend.
Welcome, November, tender and true,
With skies of gray and fading blue.
You teach us grace in endings near,
And how to hold the moments dear.

©️Lainey – Intwined.blog