November

November

November dawns so dreary, all mist and fog and rain,
Short glimpses of the sun we see, that disappears again,
A ‘twixt and in-between time’, as seasons come and go,
From fog and smog and frost and rain, and little hints of snow.

Some celebrations in the month, bring memories to mind,
Of Bonfire Night and fireworks of Guy Fawkes and his kind,
Of when his act on Parliament and his failure to succeed,
Convinced us all to revere his name and heap praise upon his deed.

A solemn day looms later, as poppies proudly worn,
Will greet the grey November day with a bugle call at dawn,
Then as a nation we remember with gratitude and praise,
And our prayer is for, ‘the fallen’, who gave us their better days.

From thence we look to Christmas time, but that’s a time to go,
But decorations light the night and leave a lighter glow,
All part of this great painting pot this mixed up month will bring,
To gather in the family, for a fireside gathering.

Mick.